


Ennui

by Calchexxis



Series: Ennui [1]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Adeptus Sororitas - Freeform, Aeldarii, BDSM Elves, Blood and Violence, Dark Eldar, Death, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Lesbian Sex, Lesbians in Space, Nuns With Guns, Orks Orks Orks Orks, POV Lesbian Character, Redemption, Romance, Sex, Sisters of Battle, Sororitas are all useless lesbians, War, Way More Plot Than Porn, Wych, real gay, rotating perspectives, space elf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 45
Words: 129,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calchexxis/pseuds/Calchexxis
Summary: A newly sanctified Sister of Battle in desperate straits against the Greenskins on a farflung Hive World notable only for its sacred shrine finds safety in the questionable presence of a suicidal Dark Eldar Succubus seeking the ultimate balm to her jaded senses, death and consumption by She Who Thirsts. The divine will of Him On Earth demands that the Xeno must not be suffered to live but, to Sister Alessandra, Isarae represents her only ally in the wartorn Hive of Amphitria, and possibly her only means of survival.
Relationships: Dark Eldar Wych/Battle Sister
Series: Ennui [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183358
Comments: 365
Kudos: 508





	1. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Succubus gets lethally bored.

Empty.

How long has it been since I have felt anything but empty?

Like an amphora that was once filled with the finest wine, now carrying only a faint, barely perceptible hint of a scent. The insides of the vessel are stained with the memory of fermented fruit and spices, but it is empty.

I am empty.

Even here, resting in the midst of the bloodsoaked sands of my arena, I feel nothing. Once upon a time, the gore-stink of the millions of deaths spent in this place, combined with the psychic residue of their torment and the echoing screams of their drained souls would have been something to exult in.

Or at least it would have moved my soul in some manner.

Now, they were simply noises and smells, empty of meaning and devoid of flavor.

I took another deep breath, the stink of blood rich in the air.

The miasma of agony filling the infamous theatre of the Cult Cruciatrix sustained me and disgusted me. It was like filling my mouth with ashes and slowly chewing until they were nothing more than a spit-filled paste of grit, and then swallowing until the resulting muck filled my stomach to bursting.

“Isarae, w-why…” a voice hissed, and I glanced to the side to see one of the hekatarii of my cult, surprisingly, still clinging to life.

Her ruined hydra gauntlets, clad on equally ruined hands, spasmed as she tried to engaged the extradimensional weaponry within to kill me.

“Because, Aelithya,” I replied neutrally as I stood from where I crouched and stalked over to her, my razorflail dragging along the sands, rasping through the dirt.

“Bec-cause…?”

“Simply, because,” I repeated, kneeling in front of her and seizing her by the jaw.

She was beautiful, all of my brides are beautiful, though.

Were beautiful.

Her hair is the deep, angry red of a raised welt, and her eyes glitter like amethyst shards. Her flesh is pale, it has always been pale, but now it has more to do with the fact that most of her blood has left her body than due to her cosmetic modifications.

Aelithya was always one of the strongest, something proven by the fact she survived having both of her legs sheared off and her torso opened up. Not even the narco-compounds of the haemunculi could preserve her through this much damage. 

Soon, She Who Thirsts would take Aelithya as well, just as They had taken the others in this long, scream-filled night.

I had thought that exterminating my own cult would stir something in me. I had hoped that the gross betrayal, the shrieks of outrage, the sight of so many familiar faces dying to their own Succubus, would at least fill some measure of that ancient amphora.

Well, the look on Archon Shae’lith’s face just before I removed it did evoke the smallest twinge of amusement. I would savor that sensation for days, perhaps weeks if I was lucky. The fact that I still had his face hung from my belt hooks would help me recall it.

Just under a thousand dead in a single night.

And I felt next to nothing.

“You… are… damned,” Aelithya hissed. “They will… come for you…”

“They are welcome to take me,” I replied dryly. “I welcome the blackness of Her hunger and the torment eternal, perhaps I will even feel it.”

“M-Madness,” Aelithya sputtered through wet lips.

She was dying, and I angled her face up until we were staring eye-to-eye. There was terror in her eyes, terror of the Prince of Excess, terror for her soul and its ultimate destination.

I wanted to see it, maybe this time I would feel something. I had trained Aelithya myself, and for centuries we had moved in a delicate dance of lust, depravity, and violence.

Perhaps I would feel it when she was devoured.

Her eyes reflected my features as she gasped like a drowning animal. I admired the artful, arterial spray that had crossed my face. My pale complexion highlighted by the perfect fanlike arc of red.

She was fading, I could see it in the glassiness of her eyes, so I pulled her close and pressed my lips to hers. It was a familiar taste and curve, one I’d tasted too many times for there to be any novelty to it.

I held her there until her body went slack, and her death rattle croaked out from her.

“How disappointing,” I muttered as I dropped her limp body to the ground. “Her final breath tasted the same as all of her other ones.”

I glanced around the theatre, considering how, in the next half-cycle, it would be crawlin with the new Archon’s incubi and kabalites. Perhaps they would offer me a new cult, perhaps they would kill me to ensure I did not do to them what I did to their predecessor.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Stepping over the empty vessel which had once owned the name ‘Aelithya’, I walked to my chambers. I kept my pace slow and languid, no need to rush after all.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

An errant thought slipped through the dull, caked, slurry of apathy that was coating my mind.

Not going anywhere.

Perhaps, perhaps.

What if I was going somewhere? Why stay on Commorragh? If I fled, would they pursue me?

Perhaps.

The galaxy beyond the webway was a panoply of chaos and death, I could choose a restricted portal to flee through and go somewhere truly horrible. A place soaked in war where no sane Aeldari would dare step foot without a full fleet at their backs for fear of being devoured by She Who Thirsts.

If I went there alone, I might find something to stir me.

“Perhaps,” I purred quietly.

A familiar sensation trickled through my mind. Something like…

Anticipation.

Yes, that’s it.

I cast open the doors to my chambers and doffed my ceremonial armor. Instead of that, I moved to the stands that held my true armaments, that which I wore when called to war by the Archon.

Gauntlets of deep black were fitted over my hands, their color like the emptiness between the stars, and covered from finger to wrist with cleverly fashioned edges that were as sharp as any blade. Greaves of the same shade and cast, went on next, strapped easily up to my knees and leaving my legs bare and free for movement. 

A cuirass, artfully cut and slashed to leave wide portions of pale flesh bare to bleed, was secured next, with scores of smaller blades hooked in place along my sides and hips.

I ran a fountain of clear water to wash the blood and grit from my hair, the long locks that were a delightful shade of orange flame. I took great pride in my appearance, as all Hekatarii do, for what is death without beauty? What beauty is there without the finality of death?

Once clean of my evening of blood, I sat to begin preparation. 

With delicate brushes, I drew lines of thin cerulean in curling calligraphic symbols across my face. Broader ones pressed rouge to my lips and flat ones gave a hint of color to my cheeks.

It had been so long since I’d done this for myself. So many years had passed since I’d had any but one of my slaves use these little brushes and cosmetics, and yet I still knew the soft motions. 

The teasing prologue to a dire narrative of blood and shrieking.

Now my slaves were dead, along with my Archon, my Wyches, my Hekatarii, and my Haemonculus, along with everyone else in the building, and still I feel nothing.

Yes, it is time to leave Commorragh, and seek my death elsewhere. It will not suit me to die on the blade of a spited Archon and his gaggle of Incubi. I will die in some other manner, something awful and wretched, something truly obscene and unworthy.

To die on an open field, surrounded by the stench of true war, gripping my entrails as I’m closed in upon, and screaming expletives while swinging my weapon in graceless spasms of defiance as my death approaches with inevitable tread.

“Yes,” a true smile graces my face for the first time in decades. “Yes… that is how I shall die, and it shall be a perfect end to my performance.”

My armory cabinet at the far end of my room is one of the lone pieces of ostentation I permitted myself. My quarters are dull and bare to remind me of what I must forever press against, but my armory… oh yes, that is a masterpiece.

A stroke of my finger pulls the veiled metal aside, and run my fingers along my myriad tools.

I paused at my hydra gauntlets, a favorite of some of my lesser Hekatarii, and a difficult weapon to master with its lashing, extraspatial material. I had outgrown their use centuries ago when their novelty ceased to amuse me. The shardnet was still an old, passing favorite of mine. Seeing captives writhe in its grip, cutting themselves to pieces until they either bleed out or learn to stay still remained a cherished, if distant, memory to me.

My favored weapon it would be, then.

The Razorflail.

I lifted the deceptively light weapon and cradled it, admiring the wide, monowire-linked blades that would rip and hiss through the air like a whip as they painted the field around me with viscera. It was a paintbrush of a sort, a simple tool that required a lifetime to truly master, and I had spent many lifetimes perfecting the art of the Lacerai.

So many battlefields had been rendered into canvasses of ruin, each death, each severed limb, each arterial spray, calculated just so to maximize the effect on the senses when viewed for the first time, and for too long I’ve employed my skills to the jaded delights of Commorragh’s mighty.

Too long they have stared hungrily as I painted them masterpieces night after night until it was naught but a chore.

I fastened the razorflail to my waist, holstered my twin splinter pistols which had been gifted to me by none other than Asdrubael Vect himself after a particularly long night of performance for his Kabal, and left my home, my theatre, for good.

It had served its purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	2. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Sister of Battle is saved by either the Will of the Emperor, or something far, far worse.

Empty.

I cursed viciously as I glared down at the blinking rune on the display before maglocking the bolter to my hip. Without ammo the weapon was little more than a blessed bludgeon, but I would not so easily cast aside the sacred armaments of my sisterhood, not when my foe could pervert its machine spirit to serve them.

Besides, I may yet find a cache of ammunition, even if it’s no more than a half-empty magazine taken from the body of one of Praelex V’s defenders.

And there were so many bodies.

I ducked through the alleys, my ears trained to the sound of gunfire and chaotic hooting and whooping of the world’s despoilers to the southeast. They were near enough to hear, true, but they were clearly engaged in combat, although whether that was with Imperial defenders or with themselves over loot it was impossible to tell.

With Orks, it was even odds.

The charnel stink of Amphitria, Praelex V’s largest hive city, is the only thing I’ve been able to smell for close to ten standard days, fourteen by this own world’s reckoning thanks to shorter day and night cycles. I hadn’t slept in the past two cycles at least, I’d been on the run or in hiding since…

I closed my eyes as I shut out the screams in my memories.

Some of them might still live, but I did not count on it. The green invader was not known for its mercy, and if any of my sisters did live then it was deeply unlikely to be a good thing.

No, better that they died in the Emperor’s name, buried under a tide of Greenskin corpses, than to live in servitude to the bestial xenobreed.

Slipping into an alley, then into a prefab hab complex that had been cracked open by crude artillery fire, I took stock of my supplies.

A small amount of food, which would last a few days if I were careful, and my power armor recycled water so I could sustain that for better than a week before the filters spoiled.

A bolter with no bolt rounds, a half-charged laspistol I’d taken from an Imperial guard of the Fifth Praelexian Dragoons I’d entered battle alongside with no extra charge packs, a chipped combat knife, and damaged power armor.

My left arm hung limp, though not from injury. The noble machine spirit within my armor had been gravely wounded protecting me from what might have been a mortal blow. Certainly the blow would have severed my arm, but the armor had taken the strike so totally that my arm had been left little more than bruised.

The armor, however, was far worse off and without a priest of the Omnissiah to work the rites of repair over it I was left effectively crippled.

I spied a half-open door to a hab and shouldered my way in, grimacing at the ruin. There were no bodies, thank the Emperor, and the Orks clearly hadn’t gotten in here yet, but that wasn’t likely to remain the case.

Slumping to the ground, I levered the jammed door back into place with my weight. It took a moment, and there was more noise than I liked, but it eventually lodged and I sighed quietly in relief as I rested for a moment.

My body ached, my mind was slipping, and there was very little I could focus on beyond my next breath.

Rather than despair, I shifted until I was on my knees, laid out the bolter, and took the small kit of cleaning tools stowed in the small storage apparatus of my armor. I repeated the Litany of War as I dismantled the weapon, taking care to wipe each piece with sacred oils as I murmured my prayer to the Emperor for deliverance. Surely he would not have sent my sisters and I here to die a hopeless death, I knew… there was a greater purpose to my presence here, and to the deaths of my beloved sisters.

There had to be.

“The Emperor protects,” I muttered quietly as I clicked the firing pin into place and racked the empty feed. “The Emperor… protects.”

Feeling more assured, I stood and began examining the small hab. It was modest, as befitted a lowly servant of the Imperium, and suited to a humble soul. Per my assumption, none of the utilities work, but I managed to find a few ration bars, which I stowed, and a small bottle of clean water.

I stared at it, torn between saving it, drinking it, and using it to wipe some of the grime from myself.

I would fight and die for Emperor and Imperium but oh, what I wouldn’t give to be clean again, even just a little.

Well, Canoness Priscilla wasn’t around to admonish me for wasting supplies anymore, she’d had her head sheared off by one of the enormous brutes shortly after we landed, so I grabbed one of the cleaner-looking scraps of cloth on the counter, lifted my head, tilted my face up, and dribbled some of the water over my face.

The cool, refreshing splash hit me like a wave of relief, and I shook the dusty cloth out a few times before wiping carefully along my cheeks, nose, and brow. 

The cloth came away nearly black, and I tossed it away before turning to look into a shattered mirror which still had a few stubborn fragments clinging to it after the devastation.

Battle-Sister Novitiate Alessandra Artus stared back at me, for certain definitions of the word. I looked haggard and weary, which I was, and my skin, normally a dusky shade of olive, was blanched from malnutrition and lack of sunlight.

My hair, as pale white as the rest of my sisters, fell damp over my face, and I drew back from my appearance.

This was war, I knew, and such things were expected, but I’d been drilled to keep myself as neat as possible for so long, and it hadn’t been so long ago that I was no more than a true novice. Trust to my foul luck that this war of extermination should be my first foray after attaining the rank of Battle Sister, although I suppose I was a measure more fortunate than the rest of my squad.

I lifted another silent prayer to the Emperor that if they lived, it was free of Greenskin hands, and that they otherwise had died in honor, and even now stood by his side.

“WAAAGH!” 

A glottal, bestial roar split the air, and I hunkered down, drawing the laspistol on reflex and dearly wishing for my now-shattered chainsword. Even an average Ork was little more than an engine of meat and destruction, and I’d witnessed firsthand just how hard they were to kill.

I’d watched Sister Orissa be dragged to the ground and throttled by an Ork blown in half by sustained bolter fire.

Sister Superior Kalion shot the arm off of one before running it through with her chainsword, only for it to seize her head with its remaining hand and crush it like an overripe ploin.

The notion of trying to kill one with a half-charged laspistol was almost laughable.

The useless guardsman might’ve at least left his lascarbine intact.

I listened carefully, the Greenskins were hardly stealthy, and I could hear them at the far end of the hab’s hall beating down doors and tearing apart living quarters.

There was no way for me to check if they were coming my way, but the sounds suggested that they were. I considered falling back, but there was no possible way to open the door to this hab without alerting them, and if I tried to run for it, they would have a clear shot at my back.

Not even Orks could miss a power-armored target running down a straight hallway.

This was it.

The moment they reached the door of this hab where I was cowering, I was dead. I would die with nothing more than a knife, and I probably wouldn’t do more than give the Ork that butchered me a new scar to brag to its bestial fellows about while it hung my skull from its armor.

“Emperor on Earth, hear my plea,” I cursed my shaking limbs as I prayed, “give me the strength to do your will. Take my fear, that your indomitable will may fill me, take my weakness, that your unimpeachable might may guide me, take my doubt, that no thought of retreat should come to me.”

The words tumbled from my lips as the Orks grew closer, their whooping, gleeful snarls grating horribly on my ears.

“Oh Emperor, guide my hand true,” I continued, my voice shaking as salty tears crossed my lips. I tried to think of it as fear vacating my body. “Hate is my sword, let my hate pierce the xeno to its unnatural heart.” I gripped the knife tighter. “Contempt is my shield, so must I stride through fire and flame as their vile forms fall before me. Faith is my armor, for the Emperor protects.”

I braced myself to put my combat knife through the eye of the first Greenskin to enter. If it was too tall, I might still puncture its brain by ramming the blade up through its jutting, prognathic jaw.

Of course, I had no idea if brain damage would be anything like enough to stop an Ork.

Somehow I doubted it.

“The Emperor protects,” I repeated shakily, “the Emperor protects, the Emperor protects, the Emperor-”

Without warning, a bestial roar of ‘WAAAAGH’ split the air, and it was a tone that I recognized. It was an Orkish battlecry, and it was echoed deafeningly for a brief moment before the whole hab was filled with what sounded horribly like leather being ripped on a monstrous scale, and a noise not unlike an industrial pressure washer spraying a stone wall.

The harrowing cacophony persisted for no more than a handful of heartbeats.

Then there was silence.

I waited and listened, finally working up the courage to press an ear to the door, and I held my breath as I strained to hear any sound at all.

There was nothing. Nothing but the faint, drip-drip-drip of liquid.

I swallowed hard, the leather grip of my combat knife creaking as I gripped it tighter, stood, and determinedly shouldered the hab door open.

A small tide of gore flooded into the hab up to my ankles, followed by the utter stench of Ork bowel, blood, and viscera. My guts rebelled as the unspeakable smell struck me across the face like a blow from a thunder hammer, and I staggered back to vomit out what little my stomach contained.

I stood, shook, took a deep breath, and-

That was a mistake.

I stumbled back into the hab and dry heaved again and again as the stink clung to the inside of my nostrils and coated my tongue in filth. My gut clenched and spasmed painfully as I spat and hacked, while tears of pain dripped from my cheeks.

After a few moments, I mastered myself. Shame filled me, and my lone consolation was that no one had been present to witness that.

This time I took shallow breaths, trying to perceive the remains of the Orks as little as possible as I stepped fully into the hallway.

There were no Orks left worth the name, only disparate… fragments. Limbs, split and ruined, littered the entire run of the hallway. It was as if a flensing wind had swept through the hall, tearing the xenobreed to pieces such that I could not have put a guess to the number of Orks that had been in the hallway prior to whatever occurred.

No part of any Ork was even remotely intact, and the hall was a cooling and coagulating creek of gore.

I turned slowly to look down the hall, back the way that the Orks had come, and the way from which I would assume whatever did this must have come.

My heart nearly stilled in my chest.

The hall was… beautiful.

The arterial spray of the Orks had painted, in perfect arcs of arterial crimson, a three-dimensional masterpiece using the hallway itself as a canvas. I stepped backward, slowly and carefully, trying to align the image that was clearly and impossibly imprinted on the walls by an act of unspeakable violence.

“Oh, God-Emperor…”

Fresh tears trickled down my cheeks as I beheld such beauty, torn from the bodies of the unclean, to depict a hurricane of blades wielded by angelic figures that, to my eyes, seemed to be charging with abandon down the hall towards their foes.

“The Emperor protects,” I muttered as I dropped to my knees in the slowly flowing river of dead Greenskin. “Truly, the Emperor protects.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	3. Grim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae decides she needs a vacation, one she may not come back from, in fact, she intends not to.

Blood pooled around my feet.

The hundred guards of the Webway junction I’d chosen as my point of egress from Commorragh had barely had time to warn one another before they were scattered like leaves across the embarkation platform. Bright crimson spread in a slowly expanding palette of reds, contrasting the dark shades of the city, though only in the most trite and unimaginative manner.

Even if these warriors were not as ancient as I, one would think they could have been thoughtful enough to die more beautifully than this.

Pathetic.

It was the work of a few moments to override the system, a combination of my credentials as Succubus along with some biological matter helpfully provided from Archon Shae’lith’s flayed face was all it took.

I scanned over the possible worlds this junction could connect me to.

Before the Fall, Commorragh was the greatest port city of the Aeldarii Empire. It sat like a bloated, tumorous heart in the Webway, resting at the center of trade and commerce like a city-state. Thanks to its unique position, I could potentially reach any part of the galaxy if I tried hard enough, but there was no need for such efforts.

And anyway, I was feeling picky.

“No,” I muttered, flicking past several maiden worlds. As amusing as they would be to despoil, I’d done so far too many times. There was no war to be had there, no challenge in slaying helpless Exodite peasants, and one could only scorch a pristine world so many times before the notion became more of a chore than anything.

I was an artist, not a landscaper.

“No, no, no,” I repeated flicking past several Mon-Keigh worlds that glowed a sickly yellow for danger.

As amusing as it would be to wage a one-woman war against the Mon-Keigh, it would serve little purpose, and besides that I was looking for a war in progress, I didn’t have the patience to start one myself.

“Hm… perhaps,” I hummed thoughtfully as I paused on a red-tagged Exodite world currently being raided by what appeared to be a Chaos-sworn company of Mon-Keigh warriors.

“No,” I decided, flipping past it. 

Their numbers were few, and unless one of those Exodites happened to a superlative ex-Path warrior, or the Chaos vessel chanced to be carrying some champion of the Dark Gods, I was unlikely to find anything worth killing.

“No, no, no, n-” I paused.

A world tagged with the shade of an angry bruise blinked before me. It was burning, and I took a brief moment to admire the sheer brutality of it. A Hive World, as the Mon-Keigh call it, teeming with billions like insects infesting a decaying edifice, and they were all dying.

“Of course, it should have been obvious,” I felt the shadow of smile echo across my lips as I noted the tags on the console.

I wanted a challenge, I wanted something that was sure to result in my ignominious demise, and I had found it.

Without hesitation, I punched in the coordinates and began the cycle for opening the Webway portal. I found what I’d been looking for, a world soaked in the furor and abandon of war.

Or rather, in WAAAGH.

The sound of the Webway portal cycling up and opening drew out that thready sense of anticipation again. It was distant and dull, but it was there, and it was telling me to move.

I retreated back to the jetbike I’d used to reach the junction, mounted it, and opened the throttle just as the Webway exploded into fulminating life, and the Commorragh became nothing more than a black-and-red blur as I tore through the portal and into the Webway towards my target planet.

A few moments later, the haywire grenades I’d left on a timer behind me attached to the various corpses I’d littered the junction control chamber with went off, shutting the portal behind me and ensuring it would stay closed for a very long time.

The journey, a span of thousands of light years, took less than an hour to complete via the complex networks of the Webway. I reflected on how often I had traveled these lanes with my brides, my cult, and how many worlds we had reaped of their mortal bounty. How many slaves had I taken to die in my pits to feed into the endless machinations of the Archons, and how many more had ended up as experimental fodder for my haemonculus. 

To produce what?

More variations on the same thing.

More varieties of pain induced by a trillion different toxins, all resulting in the exact same outcome.

How anyone could view that kind of stagnation with approval or with the notion that they had succeeded at something was beyond me. 

I had pushed the furthest boundaries of my art only for it to become a cheap diversion enacted to please the jaded senses of whatever Kabal could afford our fee in slaves and souls. That, I realised as I was in transit to my war-torn destination, was the ultimate truth of it all… that Commorragh, for all of its cancerous glory, could produce nothing truly new.

Just variations of the same failure that had damned each and every Aeldarii to the gullet of She Who Thirsts.

“It seems the Mon-Keigh were right about something,” I chuckled wanly, feeling a surge of real, genuine amusement crack through my malaise of dispassion. “It seems my entire race does likely deserve to die.”

Laughter bubbled out of me, bitter but real, as the iris of the far portal appeared in the distance, and I leaned in, keeping my head low and my eyes open as I braced myself for an immediate attack.

The junction console hadn’t suggested the portal was in any danger of being revealed, but I hadn’t lived as long as I had without taking due care.

The moment I breached the portal, I jammed the kinetic brace, stopping our motion dead and bleeding the kinetic overflow into the batteries, and spun off of the jetbike, drawing my razorflail in one hand and Rue, one of my splinter pistols, in the other.

Catacombs surrounded me, musty and ancient, and there was no telltale stink of death that might have announced the presence of either Mon-Keigh nor the slavering Ork. Instead, it was just dust and the dead, and I found myself feeling a touch disappointed and how quiet it was, but I suppose I was here to find my own amusement, not have it handed to me.

With a few motions, I shut off the jetbike and closed the portal. If this place was not suitable for my death then I would need it to find another, although I wouldn’t have the benefit of a junction.

Wandering wasn’t such a poor way of finding death, though, I supposed.

With more effort than I would have wanted to expend, I managed to maneuver the jetbike through the catacombs, until I eventually reached the psyshielded portal that had kept it hidden from the Mon-Keigh infesting this planet for all these years. It took better than three hours to traverse the cave system that existed beyond the shield and the Portal, and by that point I was growing exceedingly restless.

The Ork assault had begun only days ago, and every hour that passed was an hour I had not been permitted to kill something. I had already secured my weapons back to my waist, and found myself hoping some enterprising Ork had thought to examine these caves just so I could kill them, or perhaps a gaggle of fleeing human refugees.

It wouldn’t be a satisfying kill, but I wasn’t going to be choosy for now.

No such fortune found me.

I emerged from the cave another hour later, irritated and pent up. The cavern mouth terminated at the summit of a half-carved mountain. The air was cold, thin, and tasted of the pollutant stink of the Hive below it.

The Hive sprawled like an open sore in the planet’s flesh, burning and heaving as Orks fell upon it with abandon. The one thing I could say in all honesty that I truly loved about Orks and Humans was this… they repopulated so quickly that I would never run out of things to kill.

It would take me a few more hours to reach the city, and it galled me, but I would get there and I would find my purpose. I could feel the thrumming psychic shriek that surrounded the city, the delicious ache of so many horrific deaths.

Well, at least I wouldn’t go hungry while I was here.

I mounted the jetbike again and engaged the engine. This renewal of purpose was invigorating, and as I leaned in to engage the thrusters I wondered what my death here would be like.

Dying to a massive crush of Orks was appealing in a certain sense of things. It was a truly unworthy and hideously inglorious way to die, and that did tickle my fancy. On the other hand, dying after a prolonged fight with whatever Warboss led this particular WAAAGH would be far more personally satisfying; I was an artist and warrior and the appeal of a final fight was a temptation I wasn’t sure I wanted to resist.

Dropping dead of exhaustion after months of endless, grueling bloodshed was another option.

My cup truly overfloweth.

This was the right decision, I was certain of it.


	4. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sister Alessandra appreciates art.

Blood pooled around my feet.

I wasn’t sure how, but these Orks had managed to become even less appealing in death than they were in life. It wasn’t just the smell either, although that was bad enough, it was the way their bodies festered.

“Emperor preserve me,” I choked the words out as I fished through the gore looking for my quarry.

To a one, Orks loved loud, crude explosions, and so if they weren’t favoring melee exclusively, then they always carried at least a bolt pistol, if not a full bolter. I’d witnessed more than one Ork charging down the ranks of the Dragoons and my own Sisters while wildly firing their weapon straight up into the air, so I suspected it was more about the noise than anything practical.

Still, it would mean that most of them should be carrying at least a few extra rounds on them. Whether or not whatever crude shot these beasts pass off as ammunition would work in my sacred bolter was a different question, but I wasn’t about to be picky at this stage.

I turned up several magazines worth from broken weapons, and I briefly considered wading through the cooling, coagulating mess of the hallway for more before dismissing that idea.

Even if I could manage it without the contents of my stomach attempting another encore performance, I doubted anything I would turn up from such a search would still be usable.

With that decision made, I scrambled out of the hall and through the cracked block of the hab I’d come in through. The charnel stink of Amphitria seemed significantly more pleasant compared to the packed-in stench that I’d just finished marinating in, so I found myself in a buoyed mood as I hunkered down and crept into the alleyway.

I made it only a meter or so before something caught my eye.

Footprints, slender and almost… dainty, were pressed into the floor of the alley in dried blood.

Orkish blood.

Whatever had passed through that hallway had been physical and real, then, and not just the raw manifestation of the Emperor’s divine will. Still, it had wreaked ruin upon the filthy mongrel Orks, it had done the will of the Emperor, and so it was the will of the Emperor.

That thought was a comfort.

For a few moments, I considered my path. I could move farther afield, but my supplies would not last forever. I could go deeper into the Hive where supplies would be plentiful, even with the Orks’ penchant for looting, but that would risk death. By that same token, any reinforcements arriving would seek the Hive of Amphitria so my odds of encountering friendly forces, either from the Dragoons or from companies of my own holy sisterhood increased drastically.

I’d stood at the vanguard of our deployment, where all newly minted Sisters must prove their mettle, and my high training marks had been honored with being placed among the first landing companies. There would be more companies though, more of my sisters, and I prayed to the Emperor their landings would be far more successful than mine had been.

Idly, I tracked the footprints, and realised they too led deeper into the city. I could not deny my curiosity, above and beyond my own survival. It was more sensible for me to remain in the city where I could not only do the work of the Emperor but potentially rejoin my sisters, and if that were to be the case then I could at least follow these tracks.

I nodded silently to myself, reaching my decision, and turned to follow the footprints. I kept low and trained my ears to listen for threats. Orks, fortunately, were not known for their stealth capabilities beyond certain highly unusual subbreeds, so I felt at least moderately confident I could avoid any larger gaggles of the brutish creatures so long as I was vigilant.

While creeping forward I began to carefully take stock of what I’d recovered from the Orks. A large number of the rounds went onto the ground, being clearly of Ork manufacture if one could call it that, and I didn’t trust that loading them into my weapon wouldn’t just blow it up.

By fortune or the grace of the Emperor, even after casting aside the Ork rounds I was still left with just over a magazine’s worth of ammunition, all of which looked to have been looted from a PDF defensive post or Guard unit. I paused to load my bolter, then slammed the magazine home, racked the feed, and was rewarded with the display flicking from red to a healthy green as it showed a full magazine count.

I pressed the several remaining shells into a spare magazine and stowed it.

Now if only my left arm weren’t a dead weight. I was a fine enough markswoman but without my other arm I didn’t dare set my weapon to anything but single-shot. Even burst fire would be too risky without my left hand to brace the lively weapon.

The machine spirit of my bolter was a frisky one and had a tendency to leap more than other bolters of its model when it was fired. I’d brought up the quirk to our Enginseer and he’d communed with the spirit, and afterward assured me that it was working within acceptable parameters and that the bolter’s spirit was simply young and enthusiastic. Enough experience in battle alongside me would surely temper its fervor, they had said, and that I needed only give it a firm hand.

On a more positive note, this bolter had never once jammed on me, and I chalked that up to the eager nature of the spirit as well.

That and I took some comfort in the fact that the spirit of my weapon and I were both novices of a sort.

The footprints I’d been following sped up to a rapid sprint as I approached a small opening between buildings, and I increased my pace. I barely reached the mouth of the alley when another wave of visceral stink struck me, and I staggered to a stop as I took in the new mural of violence.

Past the alley was a small urban copse that had been being used as a makeshift camp by a small number of Greenskins, although how many was a secret only the Emperor now knew. Like the ones in the hall, they were butchered almost beyond recognition, and over the walls of the rising buildings was splattered a perfect rendition of high-spired structures that, I realised a moment later, were burning.

It took me another moment to recognise it as the skyline of Amphitria itself.

Amphitria Burning, were the words that leapt to mind. This was a tragic mural worthy of any Imperial Galleria, depicting the sack of a capital city. A masterpiece of violence capturing violence and the gravity of it weighed on my soul like a sin.

It was beautiful and terrible, and I felt more than ever the need to catch up to whoever owned those footprints.

Ignoring the camp, I sprinted through it now heedless of stealth and scanned the far edges for more footprints. I found them easily enough, it was almost as though their owner wanted to be tracked and found. I felt as if I were being led on some kind of blood-soaked tour of a Hall of Remembrance by an expert curator, and I trailed behind the steps eagerly.

In my mind, I’d begun naming the murals.

Divine Wind, in the hallway. A beautiful, harrowing death of such wrenching speed as to have been carried on hurricane-force winds.

Amphitria Burning, in the copse. A tragic reminder of the depredations of the Greenskin invader, and their uncaring brutality towards holy human endeavor.

I passed a small interior street next, where a group of Orks had apparently just been roving between fights, only to be utterly unmade by the mystery assailant. The walls of the evacuated shops and residences around them had been painted to resemble dying humans, with Orks descending upon them, and behind the Orks a shadow of death encroached.

Vengeance Inevitable, I called that one, and I liked it most of all.

Past that the footprints led to a manufactorum warehouse where a large group of Orks had been engaged in the enthusiastic and perennial Orkish pastime of looting with abandon, and at first I’d been disappointed, thinking the area too large for any of the walls to hold my pursued’s beautiful work.

The truth of the matter struck me just in time for me to come skidding to a stop at the edge of the gory remains of the Orks which, I’d realised, were in far more intact condition than any of the others.

I took a moment to scramble to the top of a stack of crates and let out a sigh of wonder at how had the Orks had been slain in such a manner that their fallen bodies now formed curving hills and their blood made rivers and creeks. Pitted armor had been shorn in just such a way to appear as an army marching across the landscape, and as I descended and continued my pursuit, I gave it some thought.

Praelex Liberated, I decided.

I thought the hills looked quite like the mountainous terrain of the planet’s primary continent as I’d seen it on the briefing slate I’d perused prior to deployment, and I imagined the Imperial Guard with its armored contingents grinding along with the weight of the Emperor’s Will behind them to retake the world from the Greenskins.

The footsteps continued at a sprint and I followed at a run, my arm clanking weakly at my side as I sought after the next masterpiece. I trailed for several more minutes, following the twists and turns the steps were taking until finally-

“Oh… God-Emperor,” I muttered in awe as I came to a flagging halt in a large Imperial Plaza.

Filling the entire center was a mound of Greenskin corpses, their weapons broken and scattered, and their bodies ruined beyond recognition.

It took me a moment to rip my gaze away from the pile of the dead and look around it, and noted something troubling.

More footprints.

Not circling the mound as I might have expected from approaching it.

Four more trails approaching from various directions in the city towards the pile, five trails of perfectly outlined prints leading to a pile of Orkish dead. Mine was likely the latest, and what I was looking at now was…

“Oh no,” I mumbled, swallowing hard.

This wasn’t a path of destruction, it was a lure.

Whoever had been doing this wanted as many Greenskins as possible to find the trails, trailS that even the dimwitted Orks could follow without issue, and had left behind enough looT and ruin to keep them interested even if they couldn’t appreciate the artistic masterpieces.

And if I had found this, then-

“ _ **WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! ** _”_****_


	5. Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Succubus is moved.

A beat thumped in my ears.

Boots striking the ground over and over, thundering through alley and thoroughfare, all approaching my carefully laid welcome. It had taken me just over ten cycles to properly design it, and that was after a few cycles of consideration on how to best and most beautifully announce my presence.

A gallery of art that would undoubtedly be left unappreciated.

Orks appreciated only carnage and devastation, and in that sense I suppose they had a surprising amount in common with my kin whom I’d left behind in Commorragh, although I doubt either would appreciate the comparison.

I completed the fifth track to the mound of the dead I’d built up. Luring and killing Orks piecemeal here had been a small chore, but no more or less effort than I’d ever gone to in creating any one of my great works. Finally finished, I climbed one of the high-reaching buildings that soared up towards the sky to watch for my prey.

Five roads lead inward to this open space, five trails of blood and footprints all perfectly aligned.

This particular plaza was open to the sky as well, which was rare for a Hive, but I supposed it was some bit of faith; something about the sun carrying the light of their dead god to them no doubt. The floor of the plaza, before I had covered it in Orkish dead, had depicted the face of one of their kind that was likely a figure of notoriety or greatness.

Defiling it was a small, added pleasure, but tertiary to my true intention.

And so I waited, and as it happened I did not have to wait long.

I could hear the passage of the Orks approaching, and their deep, thunderous footfalls as they pounded forward with surprising speed and simian grace. Orks, for all of their brutish nature, had a kind of beauty to them in the same manner as a feral beast might. There was absolutely nothing refined about them, and they did not pretend to it, and that in and of itself was almost admirable.

Soon they would be here, a small army of the beasts and hopefully led by one of their bosses. If I was fortunate it would the Warboss, but I doubted I’d be so lucky on my first try. More likely I’d get a lesser bull Ork, a Nob as they were called, maybe more than one if fortune favored me.

Perhaps even a-

My thoughts trailed off as a new sound entered my senses.

Footsteps, but not Orkish ones. These steps were even and steady, a disciplined metronomic beat. A soldier, but not an average one, the strikes of foot to ground were too heavy for a guardsman, too light for an Ork.

A power-armored Mon-Keigh, then, but not one of their gene-forged Astartes.

Shame that, since the Astartes are renown for their ability to withstand pain and punishment. To die in battle with one of them, to suffer and be suffered for however long our fight lasted… that would have been an excellent way to die.

I hunkered in alongside the grotesques that were clinging to the sides of the building and watched. I watched the Mon-Keigh, a female with hair like pale frost and skin like smooth, warm earth, stumble into my trap. I felt my lip twitch upward at the irony of catching a _human _with Ork bait, and settled in to watch her die to the oncoming hordes of Greenskins.__

__She wore power armor and though it was damaged, it was a most flattering and fascinating shade of silver-and-lavender. The main body of the armor was a deep, rich black, but the embellishments, accents, and tracings on it were the lightest color of silvery-purple, and the symbol she bore on her shoulder was one of a slender and graceful bunching of flowers resting beneath a rose._ _

__As she moved, I felt my humor fade._ _

__She was looking around, her eyes bright even from this distance. She was looking at the walls, the floor…_ _

__She was looking for my work, but she wouldn’t find my artistry here._ _

__I saw it the moment that it happened… the moment that she realised what it was she was standing in the middle of. I heard her breath catch in her throat and her pulse quicken. I tasted the unruly tang of fear-sharp sweat as the hoots and whoops of the Orks drew close enough for her stunted senses to detect them._ _

__I saw the moment she realised there was nowhere for her to run and that she was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, going to die._ _

__She swore viciously in the crude tongue of her kind, and rather than looking for a place to hide as I had expected, she charged forward towards the pile of dead Orks._ _

__Her left arm hung limp at her side as she clambered gracelessly up the pile of bodies until she reached the top, then hunkered down, dragging the heavy corpses around her as makeshift cover._ _

__Another oath was spat from her lips as the first wave of Orks came around the corner of the eastmost road and bellowed their barbarous warcry before charging her down. Seven of them in all took the road, and the woman took steady aim with her bolter as they cleared the meters with the deceptive speed of their kind._ _

__Her bolter barked, jerking in her grip as it spat death at the Orks. Taking advantage of both her cover and superior ground, she ensured that each bolt found its home, with the mass-reactive cores detonating Orkish ribcages and skulls._ _

__Still they charged, heedless of the danger and more shouts and roars of _WAAAGH _urged them onward.___ _

____The last one died at the edge of the pile, and the young woman snapped her aim as more Orks came charging at her from multiple directions. She triaged as best she could, and I watched as she blew apart Ork after Ork, always selecting the nearest or the swiftest ones, trying to keep as much distance between her and them as possible._ _ _ _

____The strategy was sound, but even if both of her arms were working and she was equipped with the finest wargear her Imperium could outfit her with, Orks were simply stronger than the Mon-Keigh. Eventually, their muscle, simple axes, and the weight of their numbers would tear through whatever stood between them and the thing they were trying to kill, and worse was that the Orks wouldn’t even be dissuaded from such a dangerous foe._ _ _ _

____On the contrary, seeing an enemy worth fighting just encouraged them._ _ _ _

____The Orks bellowed, and she bellowed back, her bolter roaring as she tore apart one after another until-_ _ _ _

____I heard the bolter trigger slam down on an empty chamber with deafening finality._ _ _ _

____The grim, wet chuckles of the Orks filled the plaza as they realised their quarry was out of ammunition but before they could approach any closer, a deeper, meatier roar split the air._ _ _ _

____An Ork, head and shoulders taller and larger than the rest, muscled his way through its surrounding kin towards the woman. Heavy plates of metal that were daubed with crude, finger-painted images dangled from its grotesquely muscled body, and it gripped a heavy axe that crackled with a bastardised kind of power field._ _ _ _

____The woman stood, seemingly unperturbed by her impending violent demise. Rather than curse, she briefly closed her eyes, and her lips moved across the words of a prayer. They were lovely lips, full and soft-looking, and when she opened her eyes again, I could not help but admire the bright green color they possessed._ _ _ _

____The bull Ork bellowed as it reached the pile of dead, and charged with his axe raised. He wanted the kill for himself and he’d bullied the other Orks into letting him have it._ _ _ _

____Rather than remain with her cover, the woman screamed out a battle cry of her own and counter-charged, catching both the Nob and myself off-guard._ _ _ _

____It has been many long years since I’ve felt surprised._ _ _ _

____Her thumb struck the rune at the base of the bolter’s stock, clearing the empty mag, then she swung her bolter towards her lame arm where she’d been clenching a spare magazine between her forearm and torso._ _ _ _

____By aim, skill, or true good luck, she slammed the magazine home in the first try, and before the Nob could clear the steepest part of the incline, she lept from the top of the pile directly into the beasts arms while screaming expletives even _I’d _never heard.___ _ _ _

______The Ork tried to meet her lunge but it was too late. It’s long, ape-like arms betrayed it as the woman dove inside of its reach, slammed the muzzle of her bolter against the joint of the Nob’s neck where its helmet met its chest plate, and pulled the trigger._ _ _ _ _ _

______Whatever magazine she had used must not have been full because the release was brief as it was deafening. The bolter roared on full auto, emptying itself into the meat of the Ork’s neck, blowing its head off and brutally annihilating the majority of its back before it the firearm hammered dry once more._ _ _ _ _ _

______She didn’t pause, but rode the corpse of the Ork Nob down the hill of the dead, leaping off at the last moment into the crowd of stunned and now gore-covered Orks below her, turned her bolter stock down, and landed so hard on the stupified Ork under her that she stoved in its thick skull, carrying it to the ground with her._ _ _ _ _ _

______And that was it._ _ _ _ _ _

______The Orks around her stared down where she knelt on the ruined and twitching corpse of their fellow, glanced briefly at one another, then the largest one grinned, stepped forward, and raised his axe._ _ _ _ _ _


	6. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Sister of Battle is saved by what turns out is _not _the Will of the Emperor.__

A beat thumped in my ears.

A heartbeat.

My final heartbeats, I realised, as I stared up into the bestial face of an Ork, one of the dozens that were surrounding me, while it smiled its mean, low smile, and raised the crude, pitted axe that it carried.

Low, grumbling laughter surrounded me, and I clutched my bolter to my chest as I stared up at the brutal and bloody death that was about to descend on me at the hands of a Greenskin. I hugged the precious weapon to me and prayed it would be destroyed with me rather than the young spirit being forced to suffer brutalisation by some Orkish Mek. 

“The Emperor protects,” I sobbed quietly as the Greenskin’s axe rose up, then started to descend with what felt like aching slowness.

“The Emperor-”

Gore sprayed my face and drenched my front like it had been shot from a hose as the Greenskin’s severed arm went hurtling past me. The Ork in question stared dumbly at me, apparently confused as to why I hadn’t been split in half by its strike, then slowly looked over to the stump where its arm had once been.

It had been severed just above the elbow, and blood was gouting from the horrific wound. The Ork barely seemed to register it, and reached for me with its free hand only to find blood dripping from the severed wrist it found there.

“Wut?” Was the only noise it made before a snap filled the air and the Ork was neatly split into a dozen pieces, spraying me with yet more viscera.

I blinked, as stunned as the rest of the Orks as a figure flickered past my vision. The sound of metal shearing through metal filled my ears, followed by more snaps and the sounds of ripping leather, and explosions of body parts.

Blood and spiraling blades twitched and spasmed past my vision and it was impossible to keep an eye on whatever it was, but it was moving through the Ork horde like moonlight reflecting from the edge of a knife.

Wherever that light flashed, Orks died, and they died so quickly that they didn’t even have time to scream or bellow. There was just mass sounds of confusion, snaps of air and metal, and the spitting noise of arterial spray as they fell to scattering pieces like the spring petals of the trees that grew near the Order Abbey.

I stood, heedless of the Orks around me, turning and spinning in place as I tried to track the figure. From the corner of my eye I saw an enraged Ork turn to me and swing its axe, intent on splitting me at the waist.

I didn’t move because, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I didn’t have to. The weapon didn’t get within a handspan of me before the axe was sliced to pieces, and its Orkish wielder followed suit half a breath later.

At that moment I think I saw it.

A flash of pale flesh, dark armor, and long hair like a burning sunrise. Eyes of icy purple, so much like the flowers of home, met mine for the briefest of moments, and something in my heart seemed to right itself, although I couldn’t say what.

All I knew was what I saw, and that those beautiful Wisteria eyes saw me too.

My heart beat like a stone skipping across a placid pool, and then they were gone, and more Orks died in their wake.

Death swept through the plaza like a holy wind, and I kept turning and spinning in place, trying to watch them, trying in vain to catch another brief sight of the figure, the painter, as they cleansed the Greenskin parasite from the skin of Amphitria.

I was distracted, too distracted, and although there were no Orks _near _me I had forgotten that some of them still recalled how to use their crude bolters properly.__

____

____

The bark of the weapon split the plaza and I spun in place as the mass-reactive round slammed into me. The angle of the shot was poor, and the impact was spoiled by the curvature of my powered armor sending the round spinning away to detonate a few fingers from me, knocking me breathless and aching to the ground and peppering me with fragmented metal.

I coughed and spat blood, curling in on myself to protect what were surely several cracked ribs. I hoped the blood didn’t mean I’d punctured anything because I was likely days away from a proper medicae.

A high, melodic, and utterly _vengeful _scream filled the air, rattling my bones and twisting my vision for a moment as I looked up to see the Ork who had shot me clutching its head and grunting in pain before-__

____

____

The figure swept down like the Golden Eagle of Terra, and she was beautiful.

Pale skin, and movements like light dancing on water filled my eyes as she spun gracefully around the Ork. Her weapon, like a whip, only made up of linked and segmented blades and attached to a curving sword handle spun with her, splitting through the Ork like he wasn’t even there until it fell to pieces in a swelter of gore.

He was the last, I realised as I lay curled up on the ground spitting blood. The figure finally arrested her movements and, as she did, I finally got a good look at her sending the bottom right out of my stomach.

“ _Xeno _,” I hissed through bloody lips.__

____

____

Not just any Xeno either, but an Eldar. Ancient, immortal, and unspeakably devious, the Eldar lied as most races breathed, twisting words and meanings to suit their unfathomable alien agenda.

She must have heard me because she turned to face me the moment the word left my lips.

She was almost naked and I flushed in spite of myself. Her cuirass was slashed such that it barely deserved the name, suggesting far more than it covered. Her modesty below her waist was preserved only by the narrowest piece of fabric and a long, black, tabard-like length of cloth that fell and fluttered between her legs on both sides and bore Eldar script flowing across it.

Bladed vambraces and greaves covered her arms and legs up to her elbows and knees on her left side, and up to her shoulder and hip on her right, and her long red hair fell a smooth, waterfall of fire around her face and back.

And impossibly, she was utterly free of blood.

The Eldar approached slowly, and although I had no idea why she had saved me, I was even more certain now than I had been when I was surrounded by Orks, that I was about to die.

I maglocked my bolter, pulled my chipped combat knife, and brandished it at her, swinging the short, notched length between us.

“Begone, witch!” I spat as I tried to stagger to my feet, failed, and dropped to my knees, “I will not… I am not…”

I gasped, my breath was coming in short waves, and my vision swam, and she approached me speaking in her sibilant, twisting alien tongue.

“The Emperor protects me, xeno witch!” I shakily held up the knife, knowing it was a laughable defense against something capable of annihilating a company’s worth of Orks in the span of a few moments.

She regarded me impassively for a few moments, then shook her weapon a few times to clear it of any remains, coiled it around her waist, locked it there, and extended her hand to me.

I stared at it dumbly.

“W-What?” I looked past it up to her. “What am I supposed to-”

“You are on the ground,” the Eldar said in softly accented gothic. “I am offering you a hand up.”

“I’m… you what?”

I lowered my blade as she stood unmoving with her hand outstretched. This had to be a trick, but what was the point? I wasn’t a useful tool, I was half dead. She didn’t need to trick me to kill me, in fact, she could probably just knock me over and step on my throat, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

The Eldar narrowed her eyes at me, then stepped closer, knelt, and put a hand on my cheek.

I shivered at the coolness of the metal as she cradled my cheek almost gently, turning my head this way and that as she stared into my eyes with those unearthly, alien orbs of hers.

“Concussed,” she said after a moment, “you are wounded as well, do not move.”

She stepped away for a moment and fished through a small pocket concealed within her gauntlets, and drew out a tiny shard of some rich red gemstone, knelt by me again, and pressed it to my head.

Before I could protest, she let out a small, trilling note, and I felt my body seem to realign with itself with an almost violent jerk of motion. The moment passed and I was left feeling invigorated, my mind felt focused and sharper than it had in days as if I’d just eaten a full meal and followed it up with a good night’s rest.

She stowed the gem back from wherever it had come, stood again, and extended her hand once more.

“Better?” the Eldar asked, and I nodded dully.

I stared at the proffered limb for a moment before swallowing hard, reaching out, and putting my hand in hers. She took it with surprising strength and hauled me to my feet, and I was further surprised to realise how tall she was.

She was like a human had been stretched, but not poorly. Her arms, legs, and torso were willowy and corded with lean muscle. Her face was a study in pale, graceful curves, and her eyes…

God-Emperor forgive me, but her eyes were so beautiful.

“Come, _Cre’yth _,” she spoke with that curiously lilted accent of hers as she stepped past me, nodding for me to follow. “Orks are drawn to the sounds of battle, and will be among us shortly.”__

____

____

She walked past me without another word, and I stared after her for several seconds as I considered my options.

The Eldar hadn’t threatened me, hadn’t lied to me, hadn’t attempted to manipulate me, nor had she spoken more than tersely to me over our short interaction. More than that, she had expended what appeared to be some kind of witchery to heal me, but from the way the gem had lost its luster immediately after I could only assume it wasn’t something that could be done again.

Now she was leaving and… what?

Offering for me to come with her?

“We make for that building, _Cre’yth _,” she gestured towards a lesser spire that was crowded by some of the larger ones. “It is subdued and small, and so less likely to be infested with Orks for now.”__

____

____

I realised, belatedly, that I was following her, and halted as a shiver went down my spine.

“What did you do to me?” I snapped, my hand going to the combat knife at my waist even knowing it would be less than useless. “I… I am a sacred sister of the Adeptus Sororitas, a Bride of the Emperor, and you will not worm into my mind, witch!”

She turned and regarded me with something like amusement.

“Wych, you call me,” she chuckled, and it was a warm, throaty sound tickled at my mind. “Accurate, but also wrong, for I know what it is you mean, _Cre’yth _, and I am no wielder of such powers.”__

____

____

“All your kind truck with the Warp, Eldar,” I accused pointedly, taking a step back from her, and she frowned.

“Once more, you are wrong and right, but either way we must leave here unless you wish to join your fellows in the Orkish cookpots,” she remarked dismissively, and my heart wrenched.

You saw my sisters being-” I choked on the notion, I had thought it better they were dead but the…

“Sisters?” she cocked her head, then shrugged in a curiously human gesture. “I do not know if they were your sisters, but they were human, and humans look much alike to me.”

As terrible as it was, I felt a measure of comfort that the ones the Eldar had seen may not have been my fellow Sororitas, but civilians of Amphitria. Of course, it ought to have been no better to know that the faithful of the Imperium were filling the bellies of the monstrous Greenskins, but to my shame I had to admit that it was different.

“I… I see,” I breathed out a quiet sigh, “still, I cannot trust your kind, Eldar… you are liars and manipulators to your cores, and you will betray me, so sayeth the Imperial Creed.”

“Were I any other Aeldari, I would agree with you,” she replied, and I felt wrong-footed at her agreement, “but I am here for a singular purpose.”

“And what is that, Eldar?” I stressed the word, but she didn’t rise to my, admittedly childish, bait.

Instead she turned to regard me with an expression that struck me to my core. It wasn’t because it was alien, it was because it was so very, very… human. She looked empty, broken, and…

Lonely?

“I am here to die,” she said simply.


	7. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae finds she has a taste for nuns.

I’m not sure why I told her that.

There hadn’t been any real reason for me to reveal my true purpose on this planet, but then again I suppose there isn’t any reason not to. Why should I hide my reasons, after all? She is human, not Aeldarii, and she would likely have no issue with my removing myself from the galaxy her rotting Emperor promised her sovereignty over.

They were welcome to it.

Why anyone would want to own this galactic carcass was beyond my ken.

Either way, she was following me now. I had chosen the spire as my base of operations to rest in between combats because of its size and relative lack of adornment. Orks were simple creatures, always drawn to whatever was largest and shiniest, leaving the plainer baubles for last, if at all.

The purpose was to remain hidden, and while I could do so with ease, I did not think she was so quiet. Although, granting that Orks navigate heavily on smell, perhaps the fact that she was still caked in Ork blood was helping matters. She had wiped much of it from her face but there was only so much one could do without the necessary facilities.

We moved at an achingly slow pace. Even revitalized by the breath inside the fractured Spirit Stone, the woman was still exhausted, weak, and flagging. That was aside from the usual clumsy nature of her species which I did not blame her for, it was not something she could help.

“Quickly,” I repeated softly, slipping a hand beneath her arm as we reached a shattered stairwell and heaved her up the broken rubble.

She accepted my help sullenly, I could taste the distrust in her breath and mind, but also the confusion and uncertainty, and that was what drove me.

I did not know why I told her the truth, but I do know why I have permitted her to come with me.

Her taste, the flavor of her soul, was without equal.

Not in a hundred Aeldari lifetimes have I tasted something quite like that. In the instant when she first gazed upon me as I danced among the Ork brutes, she did not yet ken to my true nature as Aeldari. When she saw me, she saw something indescribably beautiful, and in that moment I tasted something new from her.

I licked my lips instinctively, trying to recapture the taste but failing. It was maddening, that brief intoxicating flood of… of something I cannot even name.

To think I had once imagined that I had tasted every variation of every psychic emanation the galaxy had to offer only to find something I could not recognise on this miserable, Ork-infested rock, where I'd come to die.

Well, let it not be said that the Changer of Ways is without a sense of humor, I suppose.

They say the Chaos God of Fate and Madness is impossible to understand, that it values defeat and victory in equal stead all towards some greater plan, and yet I wonder if perhaps it only pretends to that, and the true reason it does anything is that it finds it amusing.

Was I an endless and eternal Goddess of Chaos with the ability to both fully perceive and twist fate and destiny to my whim, I should think that would be the only thing that would make such an existence bearable.

We ascended seventeen floors to one of the upper-middle levels of the spire, and by the end, the woman was breathing hard, her hand braced against her ribcage as blood speckled her lips.

“You are still hurt,” I said plainly, pausing in one of the unlit hallways, and she let out a grunt of irritation.

“I am a warrior of the Emperor,” she spat back, “and pain is cleansing, it matters not, Eldar.”

“Pain is cleansing,” I repeated the words, then chuckled. “We have more in common than I thought, _Cre’yth _.”__

____

____

“Your serpent tongue is best kept twixt your lips, witch,” she glared at me, and at the perceived slight of my comparison, but it only made me laugh all the harder.

She cheeks flushed faintly red as I laughed, and as my humor dwindled, I dropped my jaw open to let my tongue hang the full hand-length I’d had my Haemonculus extend it to. The look of shock on her face and deep scarlet reddening of her cheeks, combined with the cocktail of emotions it stirred, made me laugh again as I closed my mouth and nodded for her to follow.

I licked my lips again, savoring the sensations I’d taken in from her.

Fear and uncertainty, panic even, she was young and new to war. Despair for her lost sisters, anger at her lone survival, and…

Shame.

Deep, abiding shame.

I glanced over my shoulder at her, noting that her breathing was heavy, and she was pointedly looking anywhere but at me, 

“Here,” I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Within was clean and softly lit by hanging crystals, and a tarp had been thrown over my jetbike which slumbered in the corner.

The room was spacious and well-appointed, and possessed the easy access of a balcony which was how I’d gotten the bike inside in the first place. The majority of the furniture was intact as well, and once I’d pushed them back into the correct places and righted what had fallen over, it served as a comfortable set of living quarters.

I put a hand on the woman’s shoulder and guided her to a large chair, and she resisted.

“Get off-”

Two fingers, one on either side of her spine at the base of her neck, cut off her words with a strangled yelp as she doubled over in shock. I applied the smallest amount of pressure, enough to urge but not to inflict harm, to the nerves and forced her forward until she was in front of the chair, then I turned her, and gently lowered her to the seat.

“I am only trying to help you,” I explained as I knelt by her side and began working my fingers into the damaged side of her armor.

“Why?!”

I sighed as I worked out fragments of Orkish axe that had been lodged in the actuators of the left arm’s shoulder joint,

“I am ‘ _Eldar _’,” I replied, smiling, “are my ways not supposed to inscrutable to your mind? Would that not render an explanation meaningless?”__

____

____

I worked the last piece of fragmented metal out, gave the arm a hard shove, and it hissed and clicked sullenly. It still didn’t work, but it could at least be removed now, I thought. Mon-Keigh technology was incredibly simplistic by the standards of my people, but I supposed they were still a very young race.

“You mock me,” she jerked her arm from my grip roughly as she made to stand.

Her wounds betrayed her and even muted as she was, the psychic echo of her pain rippled out of her and into me as she staggered. To my surprise it tasted… wrong, a strange notion as I slipped beneath her and caught her.

“And you insult me,” I replied casually as I levered her back into the chair. “But I preserved your life nonetheless.”

“WHY?!” the word tore from her lips, and that phantom pain echoed out of her again leaving a tarry taste in the back of my throat. “Why me?!”

I pulled away, meeting her eyes as tears filled them.

“Why only me?” her words were wet with sorrow, and I could feel that deep, wounding shame in her soul. “Why would the Emperor guide a xeno’s hand to save me while the rest of my sisters were cut down?”

“No god guides my hand, _Cre’yth _,” I said quietly, raising both hands and releasing the catches on the vambraces, shedding them to clatter lightly to the floor. “You see? My hands are my own, and my reasons my own as well.”__

____

____

I reached out, slowly, carefully, and pressed my palm to her cheek. Her eyes were wide but she didn’t pull away, not this time. Gently, I wiped her tears with my thumb and made a furrow in the grime that remained coating her.

“You wish to know why I saved you, _Cre’yth? _” I offered, and her eyes widened a little. “It is simple… I am an artist, and you appreciated my art.”__

____

____

She stared at me for several seconds, her eyes finally turning up to meet mine. Those emerald eyes stirred something in me, something I could not quite name, as she searched my expression and my eyes for the truth.

I met her gaze without concern, after all I had nothing to hide.

“I am… a Sister of the Order of Radiant Wisteria,” the words tumbled from her lips like the rote words of prayer as she forced herself to her feet. “I am inviolate, and sworn only to Him On Earth,” cracked leather rasped as she drew her combat knife, and a notion occurred to me at the sight. “You are Xeno, you are unclean, and your presence is a blight upon the lawful dominion of mankind over this galaxy and all within it.”

She pressed the blade to my throat, and I let her. I did not retreat, I did not stop her. I simply leaned in as the cool metal edge kissed my neck, and smiled.

“You… are _lying _to me,” She snarled the word bitterly. “You. Are. _Lying _.”____

_____ _

_____ _

“Are you going to kill me, _Cre’yth? _” I asked softly, raising a bare hand to rest on hers. Her fingers were feverishly warm. “I had thought to turn this city into a last gallery of my work before dying miserably at its center but this…” I pushed the blade closer until it bit through the first layer of skin, releasing a faint trickle of bright blood, “this might be better.”__

____

____

“WHY DID YOU SAVE ME?!” Her voice was high and thready as she leaned forward, but she fought against the press of my hand all the same. “TELL ME THE TRUTH!”

“I did,” I reached up and brushed a few strands of errant pale white from her face. “I saved you because you loved my art in a way so few have, not for its depravity, but for its beauty, and through its beauty you saw beauty in me, and…” for once I felt pensive, but given my impending death I felt no need to avoid the subject, it wouldn’t matter in the end, “…and I, in turn, saw beauty in you, and so I saved you.”

Even under the crusted Ork blood and days of grime, I could see her expression crack. I could taste the blistering painful denial welling up through her heart, the pain… oh the pain… as it burned through her soul. It was intoxicating, like being slain by a tormented lover, and I could not keep a smile from my face.

“Why are you smiling, witch!?” She seized me by the hair and rattled me, but still she didn’t cut my throat. “I’m going to purge you from this place, and burn your body so not even ashes remain!”

“And you will do it with such passion,” I agreed, closing my eyes in satisfaction. “Yes… what an excellent death that would be, what an utterly perfect death.”

I waited for the moment, for the searing split of my neck as her knife cut through the muscle down to the windpipe, scraping the spine and severing the vein and artery on either side. I waited for the warm rush of blood to spill down my front and to feel the life finally ebb from my tired body.

I waited.

And waited.

“Why?” Her voice was so much smaller now, and I frowned as I opened my eyes. Tears were cutting tracks through the filth on her face. “Why… can’t I kill you?”

I sighed in annoyance.

“Perhaps because you are sentimental,” I grumbled, knocking the knife away from my neck. “If you’re not going to kill me then at least get up off the floor and clean yourself up, you smell like an abattoir.”

“I… th-there's no water,” she mumbled, still on her knees.

“I bypassed your city’s crude restrictions and restored emergency utility to this floor days ago,” I waved dismissively, “the bath works just fine, _Cre’yth. _”__

____

____

“Oh,” she stood awkwardly, staring down at the knife as she did before awkwardly picking up and sheathing it.

I was no great mistress of judging human physiognomy, I leave that to whatever particularly bored Haemonculi might bother to understand it, but it struck me in that moment how young she must be.

“How old are you?” the question came out unbidden, and I almost bit my tongue. Why had I…?

She looked back at me curiously, pausing in her hobble towards the washroom.

“I’m… twenty-two solar standard,” she replied quietly, “why?”

Twenty-two… a passage of so very few years and she was here already at her death on this blighted world.

The moment I was dead would be the beginning of her end, I knew. She was brave and resourceful… I’d seen that much in her battle against impossible odds when she’d stumbled on my trap, but there were too many Greenskins and too few allies, and she had no real supplies to speak of.

“I see,” I said quietly before looking up to meet her confused expression. “My name is Isarae, and you are safe for now, _Cre’yth _, so go clean up, you’re filthy.”__

____

____

“A-Alessandra.” 

I raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“My name,” she clarified softly. “It’s Alessandra.”


	8. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sister Alessandra gets stuck.

I’m not sure why I told her that.

My name… why did I tell her my name? What on Holy Terra possessed me to tell an Eldar witch, whatever she professes to be able to do or not do, my _name? ___

____

____

Cold gripped my heart as I imagined what she might be able to get from me with my name, given freely from my own lips. She claimed to be no sorceress, but the Eldar, to a one, truck deeply with the Warp, and it is that which led them to their ultimate downfall.

I stumbled dumbly through the door to the washroom trying not to think of my egregious error, and paused to appreciate the more than generous appointments it had.

A large bath, circular, and wide enough to fit half a dozen comfortably. A station to apply cosmetics and a wide three paned vanity. There was even an alcove where a lobotomised servitor waited to take orders for refreshments, although whether or not there were any left to be had was a different question.

I would be satisfied with a simple bath.

The interface was simple, I pressed a few of the activation runes and a moment later the bath was filling with sweetly scented bathwater, and suds were already bubbling to the surface.

The hot water looked utterly delightful, and I recalled my earlier wish: to be clean again. I let out a weak, bitter laugh as I drew out the combat knife and stared at the blade. The edge of it still bore the faintest stain of crimson.

“Clean again?” I muttered angrily. “Will I ever be clean again after this failure?”

I pushed those thoughts away and walked over to one of the dressing alcoves, shed my weapons and set them aside, and engaged the latch at my gorget to release the pressurised seals of my power armor.

Or at least, I attempted to.

The gorget latch was jammed, and no matter how I twisted at it the seals of my suit would not release.

“How appropriate,” I laughed weakly as finally stopped pulling at the thing. “I’m finally in front of a fine bath, and I can’t even get out of my armor.”

I was _not _going to cry.__

____

____

I was a Sister of Battle, a member of the holy Ordo Militant of the Ecclesiarchy, and an enforcer of His divine ministry. I strode fearlessly into battle against the green invader with blade and bolter in hand, fought without rest, slew an Ork Nob, and I was most certainly _not going to cry because I was stuck in my armor despite very badly wanting a bath. ___

____

____

“Is…” I started to say her name, to call out for her, but choked on the first syllable.

This was unthinkable, I was not going to cry out for the help of an Eldar witch, I absolutely refused to allow myself to fall that far. That I owed her my life was degrading enough… that I owed it to her more than once was unconscionable, but there it was.

I took a grip on the gorget latch and struggled with it further, praying to the Emperor that it would just give out, but something must have gotten jammed in one of the seals because at best it only made an ugly grinding noise.

“Frak,” I spat the underhive invective as I gave up and hung my one good arm. Perhaps if I’d had both I could have forced the seal loose, but I was hamstrung.

_Another pair of hands would be helpful _, my brain supplied the traitorous thought, which I dutifully pushed away.__

____

____

Instead, I just stared into the inside of the changing alcove miserably as I tried to work out how to leave the bathroom, still fully armored, and not be even further humiliated in Isarae’s eyes.

Small wonder she doesn’t consider me a threat. I’m stuck in my own armor and can’t even bathe myself… I would hardly consider myself a threat either.

Without warning, a dull pain thumped into the small of my back, followed by the sound of metal wrenching as a pale hand swept around at the same time to grip my gorget and give it a hard twist. It made an odd popping sound and I felt a strained pressure at my back as metal protested, then there came a hiss like a sigh of relief as the seals finally gave out and clattered loose.

I swallowed hard, then turned my head to regard Isarae who was stepping back from me, her lips twitching up in a small smile, and one hand gripping a piece of sturdy, crude Orkish metal that I presume was the culprit of my jammed seal release mechanism.

“I thought I heard you start to call for me, but I wasn’t sure,” Isarae said simply, flicking the metal fragment aside. “I did not realise you were stuck.”

I hated that she was beautiful, so much so that my breath was tight in my throat.

Her hair, fiery red and long enough to reach her waist, was no longer in the tight corded braid that fell down her back when I first saw her in the plaza. Now it flowed freely, framing her lithe form in the myriad colors of sunrise. Her eyes, too, struck me again no softer than before.

Eyes the color of Wisteria blooms.

“I…” It was rather pointless to lie and claim I was not stuck, but still, it was galling. “Why do you keep helping me?” I asked instead.

Her face fell to a relaxed posture of disinterest, and she shrugged again; that strange, human expression that looked odd with her stretched proportions, which made her whole body seem to ripple with the movement.

“Because I have nothing else to do,” she replied before reaching out to me again.

Her hands paused as they came to rest on my pauldrons, purposefully too, and I realised she was silently asking permission. She, a xeno witch, an Eldar who may have seen the rise and fall of whole worlds, was _asking permission _, and for some reason that struck me so utterly unbelievable that I was stunned for a moment.__

____

____

_Why _, was the only thought in my mind. _Why was she doing this? Why was she like this? Why was she so unlike anything the rectoresses of the convent had taught us about the Eldar race? _____

_____ _

_____ _

I was so stunned that I didn’t recoil at her touch this time, and she took it as silent assent to begin carefully removing my armor. Her hands were quick and efficient as she detached each piece with the ease of someone who had done it many times before, which I found curious.

_Why was this creature so concerned with helping me? _The question burned in my mind as I felt myself give in a little and sullenly enjoy having the weight of my armor delicately and precisely removed. _And why, most importantly, am I letting her? _____

_____ _

_____ _

It would have almost been a comfort if she would just lie to me, and confirm to words of my teachers. Were to discover this all had been some great manipulation towards unknowable ends, I think I might have sighed in relief.

So why did I think with such certainty that this was not the case?

Isarae stripped me to my bodyglove, save for the jammed left arm-piece.

“Brace yourself, _Cre’yth _,” She said quietly, “I am going to have to pull hard.”__

____

____

I nodded silently, grit my teeth, and took a hold on the hanging rail that lined the interior of the alcove at my waist. Isarae seized my arm, worked her fingers between the glove and the jammed metal, planted her feet, and yanked.

A strangled cry escaped my lips as the bruised and abused flesh of my arm was beaten by the passing metal, but it was countered by the immense relief of suddenly being able to move my left arm again for the first time in days. It was horribly stiff all the same, and I grimaced as I tried turning it this way and that only for it to respond sluggishly.

“Careful, _Cre’yth _,” Isarae took my left arm gently in her hands and rang her fingers down the length of my arm. “Your muscles are torn, and you have sprains in your elbow and wrist, try not to move this arm so much until it heals.”__

____

____

“Why do you care?” I asked, turning to face her in the alcove and far too tired to bother with being surprised anymore. Now I just wanted to know. “You saved me because you say I saw beauty in your art, but you could leave me now… yes?”

Isarae regarded me thoughtfully for a few moments, then nodded. “I could, you are correct, but I would argue that I live here for now, so why would I?”

“You could leave me alone,” I pressed, “but you don’t… why?”

“Because I wish to try something new before I die,” she replied. “And helping you… that is new, and I find I do not dislike it.”

“You’ll forgive me for saying that seems like far too simple of a reason for your kind to be doing anything,” I countered.

“Truth does not require belief, _Cre’yth _,” Isarae said with another small smile, and she brought a hand up to flick a strand of matted hair from my face, making me flinch. “But you are not wrong in the general sense, I am simply finished with the machinations of my kind, and in truth, I probably find them even more tiresome now than you do, now… turn.”__

____

____

She took me by the shoulders and turned me about, and her fingers found the small clasps and bonds that kept my bodyglove sealed at the back, and deftly undid them.

“There,” Isarae patted my shoulder to tell me she was finished before stepping back, “now please, _Cre’yth _, for the love of your Emperor and whatever saints you pray to, bathe. You smell atrocious.”__

____

____

I laughed.

The sound escaped my lips without warning and I nearly bit down on my tongue as I realised what had happened.

I had _laughed _.__

____

____

She made me laugh.

I turned to look back at her as I clutched my bodyglove in place around me, feeling a cold weight in my stomach as I did, but she just walking towards the bath unconcernedly. Isarae had to have heard me laugh… she’d heard the first quiet syllable of her name I had spoken from a full room or more away, so there was no possibility she didn’t hear me laugh, but she wasn’t reacting.

She reached down and twirled her fingers in the heated water, and I could see her sniffing at the scent, and wrinkling her nose a little at it.

I had to agree that the scented oils whoever had owned this place used for their bathes were leaned on a bit too strongly for my taste. Next time I bathed I resolved to find a way to turn off the automatic applicators for the oils.

Slowly, I peeled the bodyglove off, and grimaced at the feeling of it. I prayed briefly there was some kind of laundering device in this hab because I was not looking forward to donning this again prior to it being washed. With the bodyglove shed I realised how right Isarae had been about my arm,

From my hand to just under the joint of my shoulder, my arm was little more than a mass of black, purple, and yellow bruises. The whole limb throbbed with a dull, pervasive ache that seemed to reach from the skin down to my marrow.

Still, the feeling of fresh air on my skin was a delight, and I sighed quietly as I kicked the glove off, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself before venturing out to the bath.

Isarae was gone, I frowned as I realised I hadn’t heard her leave. Then again, I reasoned, I hadn’t heard her enter either. The Eldar were supposed to be supernaturally silent, so I suppose not all of the teachings were faulty.

I dipped a foot in the water, sighed happily, and doffed the towel before slipping fully into the deliciously hot water and letting out a sigh of absolute satisfaction. I watched as the water darkened with grime, and I grimaced as I wondered if I should rinse all of the filth from myself first then run another bath to actually clean up, but my inner musings were silenced by a quiet humming sound from within the floor, and the water began to cycle.

Soon, the water was clear again, and I grinned as I realised I could stay in the bath for as long as I wished.

“Hundreds of centuries divide our empires, _Cre’yth _,” Isarae’s voice startled me, and nearly leapt in place as I wrapped my arms around myself and turned to see her slipping into the water beside me, “and yet the luxury of a hot bath is something we share, how curious.”__

____

____

I swallowed hard as I tried not to stare at her nakedness, and turned my head to keep my eyes fixed firmly ahead of me.

Well, I had been relaxed.


	9. Interact - Beyond Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a novice Seer of Craftworld Iybraesil hits her head very hard.

Pain.

It was my first and only sensory input at the moment I woke, and it eclipsed all else that may have been present.

I tried to breathe, but the pressure on my chest kept me from taking anything but the shallowest gulps of air. That was probably a bad thing and, with an effort of will, I forced my eyes open only to be met with near-total blackness.

Broken shards of Wraithbone lay all around me, entombing me in a pile of rubble. My lower half was caught in the downfall, but was apparently still intact enough that I could feel everything down there, much to my dismay since the only thing my legs seemed intent on reporting was _more pain _.__

____

____

“Menesa!”

I could hear my name being called distantly through the muffling weight of the Wraithbone that had once been one of the training towers of Iybraesil. A tuning tower, aligned with the flows of the Empyrean, had apparently fallen on top of me at some point… but why?

My mind was muddled, and there was something coppery in my mouth.

What was I doing? Why had I… oh, yes, that’s right, I remember now.

My runestones exploded.

Actually, they may have exploded twice, which I’m not sure is physically possible. I had been looking… Seeing… but what had I been looking at? All I can recall when I think back to the moments before the explosion was a wide, empty blank space.

I had originally been looking at a world, I know that much.

A world of the bloated _Mon-Keigh _Imperium that was in the middle of being overrun by Orks. It had seemed like a fine enough place to practice my Seeing, identifying a few of the small and large outcomes of the war as it would affect the sector in the next few decades, but that’s all it had been… practice.__

____

____

“Menesa?!”

Oh good… _mother was here _.__

____

____

Mother never did forgive me for walking the more dangerous Path of Seeing rather than of Shaping like her. At the very least I could have had the good grace to be called to the Aspect Shrine of the Howling Banshees like my sister. 

But no, rebellious Menesa had to walk the Witch Path and get a tower dropped on her head. I would never hear the end of this unless, of course, I expired underneath all this Wraithbone which was starting to sound like a good idea.

Except… there was something I was forgetting. Something important that I needed to tell them, but I couldn’t recall what it was.

Something I had seen.

No… no, it was something I had _Seen _.__

____

____

“Oh…” I croaked the word out, though it was more of a noise, as my sluggish and bruised mind suddenly latched onto the memory.

Blankness.

Nothingness.

I hadn’t forgotten what I’d seen at all.

“Here!” I gasped, pain shooting through my ribs as I spoke as loudly as I could. “I’m here!”

There was no response. I’d called out too late, they’d already moved on to another pile of rubble, and I couldn’t get my voice to raise above a bleating whisper. I needed them to hear me though… I needed-

A song filled the air, lilting and haunting, and I gasped as the weight pressing down on my body suddenly lessened massively. The Wraithbone flowed like molten stone, all the hard edges of the cracked psychoactive material softening until they bled away from me. 

All but the fist-sized fragment currently lodged in between my ribs.

“Menesa!”

Suddenly my vision was filled with light that quickly resolved into my mother’s face. The harsh lines of her cheeks and eyes that always seemed to be judging me for falling short were now creased with worry and panic. Her eyes, blue like an elder star, eyes we shared, with skin like the Wraithbone she sang shapes out of, and hair as black as the galaxy’s edge.

“Oh, Menesa…” she cradled my head carefully and drew me close to her, and as she did she trilled out a soft tune, making the Wraithbone in my chest shiver and flex until it was plastered over the wound. “There… that should hold til we can see you to a healer.”

“No… time,” I gasped, breathing raggedly. “Call the… warhosts…”

“What?” My mother looked stricken as she turned and called for one fo the healers from around the ruined tower. “Warhosts? Why? What did you see?”

“Nothing…” I shivered at the memory. “I looked… at the future of a _Mon-Keigh _world… and saw nothing… an emptiness… a black hole in… the skein of fate.”__

____

____

“Impossible,” a deep, sonorous voice sounded from above and behind my mother, and I turned my eyes wearily up.

A figure stood over me like a specter of death. The leaden blue of his armor was offset by the arterial red of his helm, and even through the faded lenses of his masque, I could feel the disapproval in his gaze.

“Oreval,” I muttered the name of my master, one of the very few Farseers of Craftworld Iybraesil, and one who had taken to training the rare Eldar who wished the walk the Witch Path. “It is… possible… I saw it.”

“You were mistaken, child,” Oreval knelt and extended a hand, and suddenly my breath began to ease. “You overburnt your runes, and that you survived is miraculous.”

“No,” I snarled, “I saw it!”

“You saw nothing,” Oreval repeated my words to me, “you channeled the Rune improperly, that was all.”

“I engaged the correct ritual,” I snapped, then fell into a fit of coughing as my mouth filled with blood. I turned my head, spat, and turned back to Oreval. “I saw a pattern, a beginning, and I followed it as you taught me!”

Oreval sighed, a long-suffering sound he always made when he was indulging a particularly problematic student, which was usually me, and finally said, “very well, where did you look?”

“A world of the _Mon-Keigh _under siege by Orks,” I shivered as Oreval’s hand passed a fingers-width from my wound, and the flesh began to knit on its own. “A name came to my mind… Praelex… Amphitria… and then the words began to distort and…”__

____

____

“It sounds as though you lost focus,” Oreval chided me, and I spat blood again and reached out to grip his armoured wrist.

“I kept my focus, Master,” I did my best to reign in my temper, as he always told me to, and forced myself to calm down. “I saw the pattern _changing _, not fading, or becoming indistinct… I saw it _changing _.”____

_____ _

_____ _

Something of the sternness faded from the set of his shoulders and, after a long moment, he reached up and took a grip on his helm, released the seals with a soft hiss, and removed it, revealing a smooth, pale face marked with runic symbols of his craft, a long, braided tail of black hair, and dark, piercing eyes of storm-grey.

“Changing?” He echoed quietly. “Changing how?”

“Like a stone falling into a still pond from high above,” I muttered dazedly as I tried to recall the image in my mind. “Or crossing arcs of lightning in a storm… like a flash flood carving a new valley… like-”

“Like a coincidence,” Oreval breathed, and I scowled.

“There’s no such thing,” My mother spat the word almost reflexively, finally breaking her silence as she glared at Oreval. “There are no coincidences, only variables that have not been accounted for, any who tread the Path of the Seer knows this.”

“That is not quite right, Aristyra,” Oreval spoke in a haunted tone as he turned to my mother. “A coincidence is possible in the rarest of circumstances when something so unlikely occurs that it produces something else of equal impossibility.” He stood and tipped his head up to star into the sky as if trying to find the world I spoke of. “A coincidence, it sounds so small, but it has the potential to be more powerful than any working in the galaxy.”

“I don’t understand,” my mother went from indignant to truly worried. “What does that even mean?”

“That is a question that cannot be answered,” Oreval shook his head slowly, “and it is not the question we must ask ourselves, at any rate.”

“What is the coincidence?” I asked, and Oreval gave me a wry smile and a nod.

“It could be anything,” He replied sourly, “it could be a planet, or a building… it could be a comet or a star… it could be an Ork or a Human… there’s no way to know for certain unless we go to that world.”

“What did I see, Master?” I asked quietly, finally voicing the question that frightened me the most, my mind was spinning and reeling like it never had before. “What’s… what is happening to me?”

He sighed softly and knelt again to press his palm to my head.

“You saw infinity for a moment,” Oreval answered coldly. “A coincidence is a missing link of causality and it means that we, the Farseers collectively across every Craftworld and the Changer of Ways alike, managed to _miss something _and that in turn created a blind spot in Fate.” He pulled his hand away and peered into my eyes for a moment before grimacing and drawing back. “As for what is happening to you, it may be nothing, and it may fade, but you glimpsed infinite potential unfettered by causality and that… that may have Lost you to the Path of the Seer.”__

____

____

I felt my breath catch in my throat, and my mother blanched even paler than usual.

Lost.

I was too young to be Lost. I had only walked a small handful of paths, the Artisan, the Dreamer… to be Lost, to be sealed to one Path for the rest of my life was…

“How will you know?” My mother asked in a much more subdued voice than I’d ever heard from her.

“To be Lost to the Path of the Seer is to obsess over the future, to see and seek patterns in all things,” Oreval explained grimly. “We will see how you fair, young Menesa, I will petition Auturch Yelena to attend to this world and this coincidence… and in turn, we will know if you are truly to be our newest and youngest Farseer.”

I felt my soul recede into the depths of my body as my mother pulled me close, and I nestled against her in a way that I hadn’t done since I was a little girl. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around me, pressing her lips to my crown and muttering calming words in a way she hadn’t in the same span of time.

_Eugh _… Mother was right, I should have been a Bonesinger.__


	10. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae discusses death and snowflakes.

I smiled.

Her tension and discomfort were amusing, I had to admit, and the way she squirmed in my presence was simply delightful. There was shame, such shame, in her flavor, and there was something else too… oh yes, there was attraction.

Those fair green eyes were drawn to me over and over as I laid back and relaxed against the rim of the bath. I closed my eyes to give her a sense of privacy, to let her convince herself she could steal what glances she wished at my body without my knowing.

As if a Wych of Commorragh would not know immediately when someone was looking at her with desire.

How very quaint.

Alessandra… 

Her gaze left me, and I opened one eye to regard her thoughtfully as she was turning away from me. Alessandra’s cheeks, beneath the patina of grime, were reddening, and a thought occurred to me that put another faint smile on my face.

I reflected, as I reached behind me and picked up one of the soft washcloths that were stowed nearby, on how I’d probably _felt _more in the past several hours than I had in the past several years on Commorragh.__

____

____

Dipping the cloth into the water, I lifted it just as Alessandra turned, and she froze adorably as I sat up and slid closer her.

“Stay still, _Cre’yth _,” I commanded and, to my surprise, she actually did as I raised the damp cloth her face and began to clean it. “Your face is far too lovely to be covered in Ork.”__

____

____

She made a small choking sound in the back of her throat as I went about the slow process of drawing the wet cloth over her cheek, rinsing it, repeating, and again, until her face was free of the filth. I moved to her hair next, the lovely pale hair that was currently stained a dirty brown with dried blood, and began washing that clean as well.

There was, I found, a certain satisfaction in this act. I had not been untruthful when I had answered Alessandra’s question as to why I was doing what I was doing. I wished to do something new, and for a creature like me, there were very few things that fit that particular descriptor.

This was new to us both, from the way she was acting, and as I cleaned her hair and face, I studied her features.

Alessandra was human and I suppose by human standards she was quite beautiful. Her face was pleasantly symmetrical but for a scattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose, and her cheeks had a gentle roundness to them that stole much of the severity from her expressions.

And her lips… they seemed far too soft for a warrior, but then I suppose she was young enough that war had not yet hardened her.

“Much better,” I said quietly as I lowered the cloth, brushing clean strands of pale white from her face as I turned her head this way and that to ensure I’d gotten all of muck. “Isn’t it, _Cre’yth _?”__

____

____

“What is that word?” Alessandra asked, not necessarily accusingly, but there was a hard edge to her tone. “Craith? What is it? An insult?”

“ _Cre’yth_ ,” I corrected her, “and it is not an insult, _Mon-Keigh_ is an insult, _Cre’yth_ simply means…” I frowned, searching for the word in her tongue, but my mind failed me. I was not as well-versed in their language as I would have liked, and some terms eluded me at times. “It is small and white, called _Ythala_ when it falls in the cold seasons of certain planets.”

_____ _

_____ _

“Snow?”

I snapped my fingers and nodded.

“Snow, yes,” I reached out and gathered a few strands of her pale hair, “Ythala is falling snow, or snowfall, and _Cre’yth _is ‘little snow’, the small bits that make up the snowfall.”__

____

____

“You mean snowflakes?” Alessandra laughed a little weakly. “You’ve been calling me ‘snowflake’?”

“I could call you _Cresistauead_ , if you would prefer,” I replied flatly, and she gave me a look of confusion. “It means ‘small stupid child’ and it is what most of my kind call yours other than _Mon-Keigh _.”__

_____ _

_____ _

“Are all Eldar so derogatory?” Alessandra’s reply was acidic, and it drew another smile from me.

“Yes, mostly,” I agreed, and the anger fled from her face, replaced with more confusion at my response. “Derogatory, condescending, and self-absorbed,” I laughed as I kicked away from her and ducked beneath the water, then emerged a moment later dripping wet, with my hair plastered across my body. “We are a race of hedonistic hypocrites, forever looking down on the trodden-upon denizens of the galaxy we ruined with our vain, pointless meanderings.”

I said the last words with a sneer.

Alessandra stared at me in shock as I stood to my full height and stepped up onto the small ascending stair of the bath until I was only ankle-deep before turning to her, flourishing myself, and spreading my arms wide.

“Damned and beautiful are we!” I crowed, laughing bitterly. “Immortal as the stars and as vacuous as the spaces between them.”

She was staring unabashedly now, her eyes wide and lit with something fervent behind them. Alessandra was stunned into silence as I smiled down at her, letting my hands slip across my curves, and I watched with some satisfaction as her eyes followed them.

“Am I not beautiful, Alessandra?” I asked in a soft whisper, using her given name for the first time, and it seemed to snap her attention back to my eyes. “Damned and beautiful, like all of my wretched kind.”

“Stop,” her voice came out weak and strained. “W-Whatever it is you’re doing to me… stop.”

I raised an eyebrow, chuckling as I shook my head and sat back down in the water.

“I’m not doing anything to you, _Cre’yth _,” I said simply, “I do not possess that power, the Drukharii, the Aeldarii where I am from, eschew the more eldritch powers of the warp in favor of physical perfection…” I held out my arms again, letting her admire my lithe figure, “I can dance between storms of your bolter shells, but I can no more manipulate your mind than I can cast lightning from my fingertips.”__

____

____

“I thought all Eldar were psykers,” She looked more confused than anything but, to my surprise, she actually seemed to be listening. “Yet you claim you are no psyker at all?”

“All Aeldarii are psychically sensitive,” I corrected, leaning back into the water languidly. “My kind can draw sustenance from emotions and intense sensations as much as food and drink, but we purposefully refrain from using anything like the powers you so fear.”

“But you can’t simply make me feel things?” Alessandra asked, and I laughed more deeply.

“Of course I can!” I closed the distance between us in a flash until our noses were nearly touching, and her cheeks flushed scarlet as I stared into her eyes. “But I don’t need sorcery to do so, _Cre’yth _.”__

____

____

Possessed by a nameless urge, I stuck out my tongue and licked the tip of her nose, causing her to squeak out a most satisfyingly embarrassed noise as she recoiled and plastered herself to the edge of the bath, and I laughed even harder as I floated away.

“Stop that!” She snapped, and I laughed all the harder.

“Why?” I chuckled as I leaned back to float in the center of the bath. “I will die soon… so why should I stop? I shall do as I please until death claims me, but do not worry, Alessandra, for it shall be soon, I think.”

To my surprise, no retort followed, just a strained silence. I turned my head slightly to regard her from where I floated and found her staring at me not with lust or embarrassment but with… concern.

I breathed in the bouquet of emotions and shivered despite the warmth of the water. I had never tasted anything like this before, not in my abominably long life have I once tasted whatever this flavor is.

“What is that?” I tipped forward until I was on my feet again and closed the distance between us once more. “That feeling… what you’re feeling towards me now… what is that?”

“What I’m feeling?” Alessandra stalled out, looking flustered for a moment, then finally sighed and shook her head. “I suppose I just… didn’t like it when you said that is all.”

“Your Emperor mandates my death by dint of my existence,” I pointed out wryly. “Should my death not satisfy you?”

“Technically the God-Emperor’s Mandate decrees all the galaxy be the sovereign demesne of mankind,” Alessandra clarified awkwardly. “Which includes all worlds under xenos rule, and refusal of the Mandate is heresy against the God-Emperor but you… you agree, so one could argue that death is not mandated, in this case.”

“And why do you care?” I flicked a few droplets of water her way, though they fell short by a finger’s length. “You asked me, now I pose you the same query… why do you care? What matter is it to you that I choose to die? You were agreeable enough to the notion an hour ago.”

“You are not what I expected,” Alessandra replied softly, tucking her legs in under her arms as the water swirled between us. “You are nothing like what I was told I would meet when I was lectured on the Eldar race, and I’m not certain anymore what to make of it, or of you.”

“Then your dissonance shall be rectified when I die, and you need never think of me again,” I offered.

“NO!”

Her voice echoed around the mist-damp walls of the washroom, and a tremor of a pained ache struck me like a surge tide and rocked me across my soul like the herald of a calamity. For a moment, I could not place it, but reason asserted itself a moment later and pointed towards the only possible answer.

It had come from Alessandra.

“You don’t want me to die, do you?” I said softly, and she flinched. “You’re permitted to say it, you know,” I gestured around us blithely. “Unless it has escaped your notice, I do not think your God-Emperor is watching this particular world too closely for the time being.”

“You could be sanctioned,” Alessandra replied quietly, ignoring my small blasphemy, which surprised me yet again. “It’s rare, but it has happened… xenos who prove themselves may receive sanction by the Imperium, you could join us.”

“That hardly aligns with my intentions, _Cre’yth _,” I noted with a small laugh, then frowned. “I am weary of this existence, Alessandra, and even if your Imperial bureaucracy would ‘sanction’ a Druchi Wych, and I highly doubt they would, I do not want to persist any longer.”__

____

____

“Why?” Alessandra’s voice was almost wet, and I scowled.

“Because I have chosen to pass,” I pressed the point as I advanced on her until I was standing over her, towering over her. “My lifespan has been purchased in oceans of blood and seas of pain and there is nothing now that moves me, you and your… whatever it is you are giving me, is fleeting and will fade in time as well, and that thought only spurs me onward.”

“I’m not giving you anything,” she bit out through her flush, and I chuckled.

“You feel for me,” I knelt in the water, reached out, and pressed my palm to her cheek. “You _care _for me, and in time I will grow numb to it, and the taste is sweet, and I would prefer to die before I felt that fall to nothingness with everything else.”__

____

____

Her dark skin was warm against my pale flesh, and I indulged myself as I ran my thumb softly just beneath her eye, resting it on the small black tattoo of a three-pointed flower I found there.

“Blessed are you who will die before that numbness swallows you,” I pressed my forehead to hers. Had I been born human perhaps I might have lived a satisfying, if short, life. “I envy you, Alessandra.”

I raised my head and pressed a kiss to her brow, then stood, stepped out of the bath past her to leave the washroom, pausing only to pull a towel from one of the racks and drape it over my head and shoulders.

Soon… I would die soon and my long persistence would finally be at an end, and if I were fortunate it would happen soon enough that I might think of those lovely green eyes in my final moments and feel the same stirring then that I do now.

Yes, that would be a good death, I think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	11. Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sister Alessandra tries to pray the Eldar away.

I smiled.

I certainly shouldn’t have but I couldn’t keep the expression off of my face, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to. The notion of that troubled me perhaps less than it ought to have given my oaths.

Her lips were warm, and they were soft as the petals of one of our Order’s sacred blooms brushing against my skin. 

I’m not sure how long I sat in the water, mindlessly scrubbing after Isarae left the washroom, before I finally stood up and picked up my towel. It was long enough that my skin had begun to prune, and I shivered as the cool air sank into my skin. I rubbed at my arms and chest, drying myself off as quickly as possible before moving back to the changing alcove.

It was only as my hand was stretching out towards the activation panel that I came to a troubling realisation.

“I don’t have any clothes,” I mumbled quietly.

I stared at the doors to the alcove sightlessly for several moments. It would be easy to blame the addling of my wits on Eldar witchery, but I was coming to believe through prolonged contact with Isarae that she was not lying when she claimed to be unable to use any such powers. In fact, it would be easier if she were addling my wits because then I would not have to process the realisation that I was stupid enough to take a bath without having any clothes not soaked through with _Ork guts _.__

____

____

“Well, it’s not as though there are formal functions coming up,” I wrapped the towel firmly around myself, grateful for its generous length, and determinedly walked out of the washroom, picking a second towel up to start drying my hair.

Doubtless, there was little left of my personal effects that had been brought on the landing craft. We had been supposed to engage with a small force then rendezvous with a guard company, but instead we’d landed in a hot zone teeming with Ork boys boiling out of the surrounding buildings.

A trap, and a good one.

Good enough, at least, that not one member of the battlegroup’s strategium saw it coming.

Something soft settled over my shoulders, and I started, turned, and stared over my shoulder at Isarae who was calmly placing a soft bathrobe on me. The sheer silence of her movement was alarming, and it set me on edge. The notion that she could get right behind me, close to slip a blade between my ribs, without my realising was a disturbing thought.

Not that she would.

“There are some clothes that may fit you well enough in one of the rooms,” Isarae said in her gently accented gothic. “This will do for now, yes?”

“I… yes,” I pulled the bathrobe closed and shucked off the towel, moving it up to start drying my hair. “Th… thank you.”

Isarae raised an eyebrow at me, then smiled, nodded, and stepped away, vanishing back into the main room with as much eerie silence as she had entered the washroom with.

I tied off the robe and sighed, trying to put the thought of the Eldar woman out of my mind. She was an alien, I reminded myself, and the alien mind by definition could not and should not be understood. 

Raising my hand to my forehead, I felt a stirring in my heart. I could not know what she intended for me, or if her desire to die was true. 

For all I knew this was all some vast manipulation.

“I am a sister of the Adeptus Sororitas,” I reminded myself. Then knelt and clasped my hands in my lap. “I will not fear, I will not falter, for duty and fear ever follow the same path. I shall pursue one as I conquer the other.”

“Emperor on Earth, fill my heart with holy rage,” I intoned, taking comfort in the familiar litanies. “Where there is heresy, I will carry the fires of your wrath, where the alien foe dares, I will be the bulwark and the blade.”

For an hour I rested on my knees, I spoke as many of the litanies as I could, every catechism that came to mind, and yet… 

Beautiful wisteria eyes stared back at me from the depths of my own mind. Inhuman, Eldar eyes that made the words falter on my tongue, and stole my breath.

None of this was helped by the echo of a warm kiss on my forehead

“Frak it,” I stood sullenly and pulled the robe tighter around my chest, shivering as I realised just how chilly it had gotten.

Clothes sounded excellent right about now.

I moved out of the cold washroom and into the main room, and paused a few steps in as my mouth grew dry.

Isarae was curled up on the long couch with her eyes closed, and her chest rising and falling in a slow measure of sleep.

And of course, she was still naked.

Slowly, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and for the second time in a rather short span I found myself deeply regretting that deep breath because the room smelled of her. It smelled of Isarae, which was a kind of clean, smoky scent, like the ashes of a campfire that had just gone out, and almost against my will, rather than move or leave, I stood still and I breathed again.

I breathed in the cold-smoke scent, then opened my eyes, half-expecting her to be watching me like she always seemed to be.

But her eyes were still closed, her chest was still rising and falling, and her arm was tucked under one of the pillows that adorned the couch.

For the first time in my life, I prayed that Isarae was right and that the God-Emperor had, for however brief a time, turned his gaze away from this world as I let my eyes roam over her beautiful body. My heart beat like a forgehammer in my chest as my eyes roved the long, smooth curves of her shoulders, down along the swell of her surprisingly modest breasts, to the graceful, dancer’s muscle of her core. I admired her slender waist and the way it rose in a smooth arc along her hips, and then curved down to her buttocks and her long, lovely legs.

Isarae was many things; a xeno, an Eldar, a foe of mankind.

She was also, in a certain sense of the word, perfect.

Perfectly beautiful.

Her long, sunrise hair fell across her body like a shroud, and I found myself padding forward carefully so as not to disturb her.

Little Snow, she had called me. Not an insult, but almost a term of endearment. It reminded me a bit of how the older Sisters of the Convent Arborea would look after newer novitiates, calling them fond names, and treating them with care as much as with discipline during their training.

I’d never had one of them take me under their wing that way, but it had not stopped me from excelling. In a way, I was grateful to have mostly been alone during my time at the Schola and the Convent… it meant that I knew beyond a doubt that it was my skills and talents which had brought me to Praelex V and put me in the vanguard, and not a Sister Superior who wished to have her ‘little sister’ at her side.

All of my training, all of my time, and here I was staring at an Eldar witch with… desire.

The word put a dark blockage into my throat, and I rubbed at my still-most-numb arm as I turned my back on her and made for one of the side-rooms. There were four I could see, not counting the washroom, and I dearly wanted some clothes between me and the cold air at this point.

Expectedly, the room was a mess. It wasn’t a bedroom though, but rather some kind of study. I slipped back out, studiously avoiding looking at Isarae this time who was still peacefully curled up, and moved down the hallway to the first door on the left.

A bedroom, but I suspected it belonged to a child given the size of the bed and the toys. Whoever it was had left in a hurry… the child had been playing I think, if the plastic Guardsmen scattered on the floor were anything to go by, and ironically the foes his little toy Dragoon had been fighting had been Orks.

“God-Emperor, preserve this soul, may they find peace and plenty, in this life or in your arms,” I muttered the short prayer, bowing my head as I did so, then stepped back, closed the door, and went to investigate the next one.

This room was likely the parents’ room, also a mess, and it looked as though they had tried to pack in a hurry only to give up part way through and rush out with whatever they could carry.

A wise decision, and if they did escape to a shelter then it was likely due to that.

There was a fine chest of drawers set against the far wall, a half-meter from the bed, which was large and sumptuously dressed. It certainly looked far more comfortable than anything I’d ever slept.

I pulled the first few drawers open, shifted the clothing around before hefting up a tunic that I quickly decided was for a man with far larger proportions than I if the width of the waistline was anything to go by.

In opposite fashion, when I finally did find what I had to presume was his wife’s clothing, I could only conclude that she was positively waifish. I wasn’t terribly tall, certainly Isarae was taller, and I probably could fit into them, but it would not be a comfortable fit.

“No, no, no,” I shifted through the various blouses, all of which would probably be torn at the back or shoulders if I tried to put them on. Whoever this woman was, she clearly didn’t have an ounce of muscle or fat on her. “Warp it, what do I have to do to-”

I paused as I pulled out the third-to-last article, and grimaced.

For several long moments, I stared at it. The notion of putting it on made my gorge rise, pushed up to the back of my throat by sheer shame, and I could feel my cheeks blazing just thinking about it. On the other hand, it was one of the only things I had found that might _actually _fit me and, at this point, I was rather badly starved for choices.__

____

____

“For the Emperor answers all needs,” I recited through gritted teeth, “and only in hubris do we turn from our gifts to seek in the darkness that which we do not deserve.”

I had wanted clothes and the God-Emperor had provided. It was not for me to complain that they were not to my liking.

Eyeing the door cautiously, I sidled over to it and nudged the door shut, then dropped the robe and carefully pulled my find out over my head, tugging it down until it settled across me with something like grace, and turned to regard myself in the body-length mirror set to the side of the drawers. 

“If my Sister Superior, God-Emperor hold her, were not dead, then seeing me in this would surely manage it,” I grumbled. 

I sighed, suddenly incredibly weary.

Sister Superior Kalion and I had never precisely gotten along, I know that even by the standards of my Sisterhood I was considered overly taciturn and stand-offish. It wasn’t that I didn’t care though… simply that I didn’t know how to connect, to bond in the same way they did. It was as though there were a subtle divide between the rest of humanity myself, and it has been that way for as long as I can recall.

No matter how I approached them, my Sisters or my squadmates, those who were supposed to be like a family to me always seemed to keep me at arm’s length.

It was as if I had some silent contagion that everyone else in the world were privy to while I blundered through life oblivious to my own plague. 

All the same, though… I missed them.

I stepped back and dropped onto the bed, wrapped my arms around myself, and let out a small sob.

“God-Emperor on Earth whose grace is eternal and mercy unquestioned,” I began quietly, “keep my Sisters close to thee, bear them from shadow into thy bright embrace and know their names, Tress Kalion, Andra Lillimara, Yu Wenlei, Attica Tenzen…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	12. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae eavesdrops.

This wasn’t what I wanted.

“…Attica Tenzen, Orissa Kassiter, Milla Roman…”

I wasn’t even certain what I had wanted. I knew that Alessandra needed clothes, but human physiognomy was bulky and odd to me, and any one of the drab sacks they draped their bodies in looked similar to any other. I had reckoned that perhaps she would find something to wear in the personal effects of the female who lived her before but this was not how I’d wanted it to go.

“…Septime Ulyssanna, Mikasa Maer, Zenova Thrace.”

Leaning on the door, I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest as I listened to her intone the names of the dead. Perhaps pretending to be asleep as she wandered these quarters had been a mistake, so long as she was distracted by my presence she wasn't thinking of the events that resulted from her coming to this world.

Every name she spoke aloud carried with it an echo of pain that road a sick, tarry wave which I could hardly stomach. Never before had I considered the flavor of pain to have a poor taste, at the very least it might have no taste at all, but Alessandra’s pain?

I found I had no liking for it.

Her voice trailed off at the ninth name, and she grew quiet for a moment before picking up the cadence again.

“O’ Emperor, Lord and Master of Mankind, keep these names and bear them to glory,” Alessandra’s voice was tight and strained, and I could hear the tears in it. “May my Sisters fight ever by thy side in thy eternal war against the adversaries of man, and may… may they look kindly upon me, til we stand side by side once more at thy right hand.”

Uncertainty was not something I was accustomed to.

This pain she felt, there was nothing I could do to alleviate it, nothing I could grant her that would lift the yoke of her survival from her shoulders. 

“And when her time is nigh, though it be not thy province, I beg thee, O’ Faultless One, to stretch out thy hand to this benighted world-”

I froze, a chill riding up my spine as Alessandra continued to pray to her dead Emperor.

“-and bear hence the xenos soul of Isarae of the Aeldari away from the hunger of the Dark Gods, for she has shown me kindness and grace, and she has been gentle to me, and I would beg thee, God-Emperor on Holy Terra, to extend to her the smallest touch of thy infinite mercy.”

She was praying for her sisters… and for _me _.__

____

____

“ _Ave Imperator ad Domine Aeternum _.”__

____

____

I swallowed thickly, a strange pain taking up residence in my chest as Alessandra closed her prayer. It was one thing to hear one of their genhanced zealots screaming litanies of hatred at me on the backswing of a powered blade, but another thing entirely to hear a prayer for protection and absolution spoken for my soul.

“I do not need absolution,” I hissed softly, “there is no light beyond the veil, only the hungering dark.”

The cycle ticked by noiselessly, save for the occasional distant detonations of the Orks finding something new to blow up. I should have been doing something productive, something useful or at the very least something that steered me closer to my goal. I had come to this world to die and for reasons I couldn’t quite place I was becoming less and less focused on that.

Alessandra was distracting me, this was obvious, but why?

Why was she distracting me so thoroughly? Why was it that every time I neared the door to leave her behind, I felt an ache in the pit of my stomach?

I stood from where I’d been leaning on the door for what felt like, and what may have in fact been, hours.

Night had fallen, the planetary cycle moving quickly through its paces as I made my way out into the living room to stare out across the balcony.

Human cities are such ugly things.

At least the gracefully bladed spires of Commorragh were artfully designed and placed. These spires which soared into the heavens like pestilential spears to blacken the skies with their weather-scarred frames seemed to have been jammed into place at random, risen wherever the short-sighted species that owned them foresaw a need for space without the faintest consideration for where they would go from there.

A faint chiming drew my attention to the jetbike, and I narrowed my eyes. Only the passive sensory array was still active on it and there was nothing that would trigger it on this brittle world.

“Nothing but the webway portal,” I breathed, cursing as I crossed the room, tore the tarp off of the bike, and began cycling up the energy cells.

It took a moment but as soon as I was able to I engaged an active scan, narrow-band, and aimed at the hills where I had emerged.

The signature was faint, but it was there.

Something had emerged from the webway, and recently, 

“Raiders?” I mused on that for a moment. “No… no Drukhari would bother to come here, no Archon would waste their resources hunting a mad Succubus in a den of Orks,” I chuckled at the thought of myself as mad, and reasoned that it was probably truer than not. “Then my Craftworld kin? But why?”

The Aeldari of the Craftworlds were loathsomely restricted creatures, but it was always difficult to predict why they were anywhere until it was too late. Their Seers had them traipsing the length of the known galaxy to twist the skeins of fate this way or that for various reasons, so I supposed there must be something here that fit that description.

“It must be truly dire for them to risk using a gate so close to the Dark City,” I laughed as I powered down the jetbike. No need to draw their attention, after all. 

This would not be the first time that Craftworld Aeldarii had interfered in some seemingly pointless human war, but it was just my bad luck I’d found one they were interested in. I had no desire to die to my self-righteous cousins, that death sat ill with me. 

Sighing, I leaned back in the seat of the bike and considered my options. There was no way they would fail to notice a Wych slaughtering Orks with abandon, even in the middle of a war, and that meant I would have to put off my plans until I was certain they had left.

Somehow, that didn’t seem as irritating to me as it should have.

“I should still investigate it eventually though,” I muttered as I pulled the tarp over the jetbike again. 

I would have to plant a sensor so I knew when they had left this festering city, otherwise it would all be guesswork, and I hated guesswork.

Not now though… later. Now they would be setting up a forward outpost to operate from, not too close to the gate, but close enough to monitor it. They wouldn’t want an entire Druchii raiding party emerging on their powdered arses, after all.

Fortunately, I had something else to distract me in the meantime.

I returned to the bedroom, opening the door quietly with only the barest rapping of my knuckles against the threshold to herald my entrance.

Alessandra was sleeping, as I had suspected. What I had not expected, was what she was sleeping _in _.__

____

____

It was a dress, one that was clearly meant to be worn by someone shorter and leaner than her, as it came down to her mid-calves instead of to her ankles where it seemed like it was supposed to. 

Alessandra was blessed with very human curves, wide hips, strong legs, and broad shoulders from carrying another body’s weight of armor for cycles at a time. Her arms had the definition and power necessary to brace a Bolter firing on automatic by main force if necessary, but there was a softness to the muscle that spoke of her youth.

I don’t know why, but I found myself staring at her much as she had stared at me when we were bathing. I hadn’t found her nearly so physically engaging then. Emotionally, yes… her flavor was something I was still trying to place, but what I felt now was purely physical.

The way the too-small dress hugged her form, and how she was curled up asleep and clutching a pillow to her chest made it difficult to compare her to the warrioress who had out-charged an Ork Nob whilst screaming and firing her Bolter. She looked… vulnerable, more than just something I could kill, but something else. Something that set a light in the deep places of my chest that I hadn’t felt in better than a thousand years.

I… wanted to protect her.

Alessandra let out a soft cry, and I almost leapt in place at the sudden sound. It was sharp, like a cry of pain, and in an instant my hand had a white-knuckled grip on the haft of razorflail.

“So that’s why,” the words escaped my lips as the realisation struck me and rose out of my combat stance.

That's why I couldn't leave.

It was her.

I forced my hand open, releasing the flail as Alessandra jerked in place on the bed and let out another cry. She was having a nightmare, I’d seen it more than enough in the slaves of the Kabal I’d served. 

Archon Shae’lith had been fond of filling his slave pens with psychogenic gases meant to overstimulate the audio/visual cortex of the Mon-Keigh’s primitive brain. That combined with ingested hallucinogens in their food made for a literal nightmare of a cocktail. I’d asked him about it once when the shrieking had grown such that it was distracting some of my Wyches, and he had said that it helped him sleep.

The thought of Alessandra being subjected to such a nightmare actually turned my stomach in a way I thought I’d long since forgotten how to feel.

Another small cry, and I grimaced. I could close the doors and leave, go to the other side of the quarters where I couldn’t hear her, but I knew instantly that it wouldn’t help. In fact, I was certain that the distance would make the churning in my stomach worse.

Instead, I grabbed the chair by the vanity, pulled it around to the side of the bed she was sleeping on, and sat down.

“I am only doing this because you’re not awake to see or hear it,” I muttered quietly as I reached out and slid my hand into one of hers, which she immediately gripped it with alarming strength, and I ran my thumb over her knuckles a few times. “We will never speak of this, _Cre’yth _… ever.”__

____

____

I wasn’t sure why I was talking. She couldn’t hear me from within the throes of her nightmare, but… perhaps she would hear something else.

Clearing my throat, I scowled. “Mad Succubus… surely such a descriptor has never been more accurate.”

Alessendra’s soft cry ended in a croaked sob, and I sighed.

“Oh very well,” I gave her hand a small squeeze, then parted my lips, took a deep breath…

And I began to sing.


	13. Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessandra sleeps and then wakes.

“This wasn’t what I wanted!”

I screamed the words through a torn throat, raw from screaming the same words at the veiled blackness around me. The charnel stink of copper filled my nostrils and coated my tongue with an abattoir-slick patina of rust. 

My armor hung heavy around me, its power core long dead and the gleaming gold and silver-lavender etchings were corroded to nothing. Even the matte black thermogenic sealant was scraped away to reveal bare, cracked ceramite.

Another few steps carried me away from the advancing horde, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough because I would never and could never escape them. 

I wasn’t permitted to escape them, because they had not escaped… none of them.

“PLEASE!” The word ripped its way out of my throat as I staggered back. “I… forgive me…”

I dropped to my knees, too tired to continue, too tired to run anymore as the figures closed into a damning circle around me.

“Please, Sisters,” I sobbed bitterly, “please forgive me…”

They never did. They never admonished nor forgave, neither accused nor relieved.

They just stared.

Their bodies were ruined, but they stared nonetheless. Their armor was cracked and split under the weight of a thousand Orkish axes, their bones were broken, their limbs pulped, skulls shattered, and blood poured endlessly from wide rents in ceramite.

As always, they looked as I remembered them last. I remember the way Kalion’s headless body slumped out of the grip of an Ork Nob as it crushed her skull. I remember how Attica screamed her defiance as she was buried under a dozen of the hooting bastards, her shrieks turning to wet, burbling noises as they hacked her apart. 

And poor Sister Yu, the youngest of us, even younger than me. This was her first battle as a fully-fledged sister of the Order of the Radiant Wisteria. It should have been glorious, and it should not have ended so quickly for her, with her ribcage blown out by a lucky shot from an Ork Shoota. 

Sister Kassiter stared at me, her head hanging limp, her neck a swollen bruise from where the Ork who should have been dead had borne her down, gripped her by the throat, and snapped her spine.

“ _I’m sorry _,” I sobbed again, curling my heavy, dead-weight arms around myself. “Please… forgive me…”__

____

__

But they would never forgive me.

They would never speak either. I would never hear their voices again, not Kalion’s critical remarks, or Yu’s soft, unassuming lilt as it rose in praise of the God-Emperor during hymnals. I would never sit with Attica again as she loudly regaled us for the fifteenth time about the day she bested the champion of a chaos cult, or hear Mikasa speak the litanies of command as she scribed devotions to Him On Earth on strips of parchment, nor would I kneel beside Sister Lillimara and listen to her interpret the theological writings of the Saints.

And it was my fault.

Because I had not been strong enough, not strong enough to save them, nor strong enough to stand my ground and die with them.

The tide of blood rose, as it always did in my dreams. It rose until began seeping into my damaged armour, until it crested my gorget and reached my chin, then my lips, and-

And… 

There was singing.

Music filled the air like a physical force and I couldn’t properly account for where it was coming from. It was not a hymn, it wasn’t even in Gothic. It was new and so, so very old, and the voice that carried the song made the world around me ripple as it rose and fell with strength and something so much greater than beauty.

The sound and words, if that is what they were, slipped through the walls of sleep to my mind, and chased the smell of blood from my nose and the copper from my tongue as the tides began to recede it. In turn, those tides carried with them my dead sisters, and even though I knew they would find their way back to me, I found myself bitterly thankful to be free of them for even a short while.

Blackness swallowed me, and I was grateful.

* * *

The world came slowly back to me.

My entire body reported the aches and pains of a long time spent riding a high of adrenaline and ignoring my wounds and bruises. My left arm, especially, was little more than a mass of agony that made me grimace as I finally managed to peel open my eyes.

The room was dark, but there was a scent to it that I couldn’t quite place. I felt my mother’s hand in mine, and I squeezed it softly to reassure myself that-

No… that’s not right.

I raised my gaze and found a pale hand, inhumanly graceful, holding mine, and followed the curve of the arm it was attached to up until I reached its owner, Isarae, who was looking down at me with an expression almost like concern framed by straight sunrise locks.

Those alien eyes were strange to me, or they should have been at least. Yet I found comfort in them, in those bright, wisteria eyes that could never be mistaken for human.

Tearing my eyes from hers, I glanced around myself to find sweat-soaked sheets and mussed blankets, then turned back to her as I nestled back against the pillow I’d been clutching to myself with one hand. The other hand remained steadfastly where it was, gripping hers.

“Did I fall asleep?” I asked softly, and Isarae made a quiet hum as she nodded.

“For a little while,” Isarae replied.

“Why are you here?” I turned from her and stared across the room. 

My body ached, and it wanted more rest, but my mind was restless and I knew slumber would be long in coming for me.

“To die, _Cre’yth _,” she answered after a moment. “I told you.”__

____

____

“Precisely,” I glanced up at her and found her turning away from me, her lips twisting in frustration. “You came to Amphitria to die, but you’re still here… you could have gone out into the city and created your gallery any time while I slept, but you didn’t.” I propped myself up on my good arm and turned to meet her eyes. “Instead you stayed with me.”

“You cried out in your sleep,” Isarae said simply.

“I was dreaming of my sisters.”

“Dying?”

“Already dead.”

“Hmm,” Isarae sighed, then pulled her hand free of my fingers, and felt a stab of remorse that lasted only a moment before she was suddenly up from her seat and moving over me.

I let out a small, sharp breath of surprise as she pressed me to the bed, her hands on my shoulders, her legs slung over me to straddle my hips, and in that moment I think it only just caught up to me that she was still naked. I was too surprised to move as she rose to her full height, maybe half a head taller than me. I could feel the intoxicating weight of her body as the poison moonlight of Praelex’s four wan satellites lit her pale skin with a radiant glow. The way the light played off of her hair, too, was strange… a scarlet horizon captured in the middle of the night by the light of the moon.

My breath was stuck somewhere near my ribs as I stared up at her, and she met my gaze with an inscrutable expression.

“Do you want me?” Isarae reached out to play her fingers across my chest up to my chin, then to my lips. “Even though I am xenos… even though I am the enemy.”

“You’re not my enemy, Isarae,” I said the words without thinking, and as heretical as they might have been I knew they were true.

“How can you know?” She leaned down, her hair falling across my face in tickling waves. “I am Aeldari, a deceiver… worse, I am _Druchi _.”__

____

____

“I know.” She raised an eyebrow at that.

“I'm a novice, not an idiot” I said flatly. "I know the difference between a corsair and a true dark one like you, even if it took me a little while to realise it.” I reached out with my good arm and put the tips of my fingers to her cheek, tracing the fine, inhuman lines I found there.

“Then how do you know I am not your enemy?” Isarae’s voice grew tight, and I could see the faint hint of threat burning behind her eyes. “How do you know I am not lying to you… that I did not save you for some terrible ends?”

How did I know? I tried to cling to that line of questioning, that odd, idle query that had been drifting through my mind since the bath. I knew Isarae was dangerous, impossibly dangerous, but I knew with just as much certainty that she was not dangerous to me.

But how?

In the back of my mind, a lilting tune reached out to me.

“Because you sang to me,” I replied in a soft voice, and Isarae stiffened, her eyes widening and her breath catching audibly in her throat. “It was you, wasn’t it? In my dream… I heard singing.”

“That-”

“It was you.”

Isarae slung her legs off of me, dismounting and slipping off of the bed to stalk away towards the bedroom door.

“Wait!” I scrambled to my knees, cursing the too-tight dress, and vowing to find something that could fit me as I stood to follow her.

My legs were, apparently, not in the mood.

My feet had barely struck the floor and my weight settled on them when the muscles protested in the strongest possible terms by giving out entirely, and for a moment I was treated to a view of the floor rushing up to neatly clobber me in the face for my hubris of daring to stand when-

Isarae was there, like a flash of pale light, slipping her arms under mine and around my waist and pulling my good arm over her shoulder. Her soft, red hair spilled over me as she pulled me close and stood, lifting me to my feet and taking the greater share of my weight on herself.

“Be careful, _Cre’yth _,” Isarae’s voice was low and concerned. “You are still battered, and your body has suffered too long for you to be moving about so quickly.”__

____

____

She walked me back to the bed and lowered me onto it, and my screaming body seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as I laid my head back on the pillows.

“See?” I laughed a little weakly as I placed my hand over hers where she was carefully settling me onto the bed. “You’re not my enemy.”

Isarae made a soft snort through her nose, a sullen, irritated sound that made me smile, and finally, she just shook her head and stood.

“Perhaps you are right,” she admitted quietly. “But perhaps not, all I know is that I do not want you to die, Alessandra… I know that much.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I replied, admitting my own small heresy.

“What a pair we are, then,” Isarae chuckled dryly. “You, a sister of a holy order, and I, a Wych of Commorragh… in any other situation we would be trying to kill each other.”

“Galling as this is to say, I’m certain you’d win that fight,” I replied in an equally arid tone, and that actually got a burst of laughter from her.

She turned to regard me for a few quiet moments before leaning down and pulling the covers over me.

“I will get you some water,” Isarae said softly, “and then I will be leaving the spire.”

I felt my heart plummet to my stomach at her words, and it must have shown on my face because she gave me a reassuring smile.

“For supplies,” she clarified, “then I will return.”

“Promise me,” I reached out, with both hands this time, forcing my bruised and mostly-numb left arm to move as I grasped her hand, twining her fingers with mine. “That you’ll come back, promise me.”

“What meaning has the word of an Aeldari to a human?” she asked blithely.

“Your word means something to me.”

For a moment, I thought she was going to pull away when I said that. Her eyes widened just a little, and I could feel a sudden tension roll up her body like a subtle wave.

“I promise to come back,” Isarae said quietly, then leaned in and pressed her lips to my forehead again. “Now rest, _Cre’yth _,”__

____

____

I nodded as I laid back, satisfied that her word was the best I was going to get, and trusting that she would hold to it enough to bring her back to me. I wasn’t even certain why it was so important that she come back, but I knew that it was. As she turned to open the door and leave the room, I got quite a nice view of her backside, and a notion occurred to me that fell out of my mouth in the form of a question.

“Why are you always naked?” I asked blearily, only realising an instant later that I actually asked it out loud as she turned to me with a bemused smile on her lips.

“Because,” she replied, planting hands on her hips, “I look best naked, do I not?”

Well… I could not argue with that.


	14. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae is, for once, too slow.

A storm had broken over Amphitria.

I moved with as much speed and grace as possible while avoiding the downpour, there was no telling what kind of chemicals were in that water and I had no desire to develop chemical burns because I hadn’t managed to stay out of the rain.

The rain was most likely a result of all the detritus being spewed into the air and the constant ground to air fire being lobbed skyward by the Ork’s crude gun batteries. There was a thickness in the air though, something more expansive was coming in, probably from the coastline several dozen kilometers away. 

Like a tremor before a quake, this was a herald of a much greater storm pushing inwards, and I gave it another thirty or forty cycles before it made it here.

Perhaps that would be a blessing though. The Imperials still trying to manage landing zones but didn’t seem to be having much luck from the few glimpses I got of the various skirmishes and firefights being waged around the Hive, and storm-cover might change that.

Not that I was surprised at their ongoing failure, though, since there were few foes quite as irritating to dig out of an urban landscape than the Orks. With no shortage of alleyways and plenty of scrap for them to hodge-podge together their hideous excuses for technology, such cities were rarely worth retaking.

Still, I suppose credit for the effort was due, even if all the soldiers aboard the shot-down gunships would disagree.

I chuckled as I ranged further from the spire away from where I knew the Orks had been most dense. Like all the rest of their kind, Orks congregated en masse, looting and destroying anything in reach and moving in a horde from one place to the next, spire by spire, taking anything shiny or dangerous that wasn’t bolted down and ripping up whatever was.

Still, even the Orks only had so many bodies to go around, and there were no shortage of spires that were still intact.

I landed on the balcony of one such spire that was significantly nicer than most of the rest around it and adjusted the strap of the satchel I’d brought along for carrying whatever I might find.

The doors were shut, and on a whim I slid my hand over them, admiring the hard armorglass that the owner had clearly put quite a bit of work into. The lock was biometric and the fancifully adorned doors were reinforced, and it was not going to be nearly enough to keep me out.

My razorflail snapped to its full length, and I slid my thumb along the reactive mesh bound into the bone handle to retract it back into its blade form, then raised it high before swinging straight down the middle where the double doors of the balcony met. The Druchi blade cut through the bolted locking mechanism with ease, and a moment later a sharp, grating buzz sounded heralding some kind of alarm system.

I ignored it as I kicked the doors open and stepped inside.

“Now… food, medical supplies… what else?” I mused as I glanced about the lushly appointed domicile. 

“CEASE MOVEMENT AND SURRENDER!”

The voice was a mechanical scream pushed through a distorted vocaliser and I turned to see an Imperial servitor, one of those lobotomised flesh machines, emerged from an alcove on the wall. It’s lower half had been replaced with some kind of insectile six-legged chassis, gilded with gold for some reason, and its arms had been amputated and replaced with a weapon system consisting of four mechanical limbs, two on each side, each ending in a spiked baton which crackled with electrical discharge.

“Mm… no, I don’t think I will,” I replied after a moment before dropping the satchel and thumbing the mesh weave again to release the tension on the razorflail just as I leapt towards the hulking construct.

It moved with admirable speed, swinging all of its weapons in a complicated arcing series of blows that would have crushed me to the floor if I’d been coming straight at it.

The construct had a particularly obvious blind spot, however, which I gleefully took advantage of. For all of its forward-facing attack power, it had no ability to strike beneath it, and as I surged forward I dropped low and slid under its crossing blows.

A twitch of my wrist as I came up behind it sent my razorflail twisting as it trailed after me to tangle around the gyros and actuators of its legs.

“Take a seat, won’t you?” I gave my flail a hard tug and the blades cut through all four of its legs at the joints simultaneously, sending spurts of noisome hydraulic fluid and some kind of nutrient grime that was pumped through its body spilling across the fine carpeting.

It began blurting its machine cant, reciting various error codes for the catastrophic damage it had taken. Another quick movement and its head went flying, followed by its arms, and finally, the thing’s animating force gave up with an odd, mechanical burp as its various systems suffered simultaneous failure.

“Disgusting,” I remarked as I plucked my satchel back up and away from the slowly expanding pool of foul-smelling and vaguely green bio-organic lubricant mixture that, I believed, also doubled as blood.

I moved around the home, ignoring the occasionally sparking carcass in the middle of it, and found a good number of nonperishable bits of food. Mostly something called ‘Soylens Viridiens’ of various purported flavors that I wasn’t certain were accurate descriptors of their taste at all. Still, it was better than starving, and the small set of quarters Alessandra and I were currently occupying didn’t have much in the way of food.

With a shrug, I stashed the cans in the satchel. A further amount of token snooping turned up a decently filled kit of medical supplies which went on top of the food, and I resolved to bring the jetbike back here so I could take back more of the supplies before the Orks got their grubby green hands on it.

My exploring took me into the bedrooms, and I found a quite of bit of gaudy accouterment that the Orks would no doubt happily steal. I left those for them, they served me no purpose and looked awful, but I suppose the average Mon-Keigh isn’t much more aesthetically developed than the average Ork, so more for them.

On a whim, I sifted through some of the clothing. Unlike the bedchambers of the quarters I’d chosen, this place had a far more elaborate setup. The closet, such as it was, was a complicated machine made up of revolving mannequins that were each dress in full outfits.

“I do not understand these creatures,” I muttered quietly as I thumbed through the various selections.

My interest was mostly kept by the fact that the female set of mannequins seemed to be much closer to Alessandra’s frame. Still a bit wispy by comparison to my _Cre’yth _, but the shoulders had more room to them, and the height was there.__

____

____

“Oh that’s not bad,” I smiled as the second-to-last selection turned up a long, comfortable-looking lounging dress of some soft, dark green material accented with gold buttons.

I pulled that one off of the mannequin and stashed it along with the food.

As I turned away from the closet and made my way back out to the main room, I stared down at the satchel with growing unease.

The food was sensible, the medicine was too. I couldn’t afford to burn through the Spirit Stone fragments I’d collected, and there was no reason to use them when a bandage would do just fine. 

The dress though…

I wanted to give it to Alessandra, not because she needed it but because I thought she might like it.

“Why does that matter to me?” I paused at the balcony doors and set the satchel down, staring at it as if it had just accused me of something indecorous.

I wanted her to like it because… I wanted her to smile again. I wanted her to smile at me the way she had before I’d left. The outpouring of emotion she’d felt on the heels of that simple expression had been unique, and I wanted to taste them again.

More than that though, I wanted her to smile.

“I am, without a doubt, becoming the worst example of a Druchari to ever live,” I mumbled as I hefted the satchel. “But I’m going to die in a few cycles, so I don’t suppose it matters.”

Bolter fire met my ears as I stepped onto the balcony, and I furrowed my brow as I scanned for the source. The main body of the Ork incursion shouldn’t have reached this area yet, but that didn’t mean some small splinter group of looters hadn’t decided to make their way further into the city to get first pick.

More bolter fire, and I narrowed my eyes as I picked out the individual sounds.

“Seven, nine… no, just seven weapons now,” I counted multiple shots, a few cutting off here and there, with the distinctly unhealthy barking pattern of noise that Orkish shootas made, but the other three had smooth, sharp reports.

Imperial bolters, but more specifically…

I dropped the satchel on the balcony and hared off towards the gunfire. It was picking up in earnest, and it was coming from what looked like an Imperial shrine, a small one, so a chapel I supposed, and it was embossed with the Imperial eagle along the high archway that made up its broken-open entrance. The embellishments around the eagle, though, carried the repeating pattern of that three-petaled flower tattoo that decorated Alessandra’s cheek, confirming my suspicions.

Those bolters weren’t just Imperial, they were the same mark of weapon that Alessandra used.

I had barely landed on the roof of the chapel as the weapons fire ceased, and I cursed under my breath as I dropped to a blown-out window, and I peered inside.

Seven Orks; four dead, two lightly wounded, the other looked unscathed. In the middle of the chapel were three women with pale hair the same snowy color of Alessandra’s, splayed out in a wash of their own gore, cut down by a hail of bolter fire from the surviving Orks. The women had put up an admirable fight, but in the end there were just too many Orks, and that was going to be the case for most of these little holdouts.

Seeing them laying there, dead, their eyes glazed over in silent agony and looking so very much like my Alessandra, set a black flame of rage in my chest that bloomed hotter as the remaining Orks chuckled and bragged in their wet, ugly, guttural tongue while they stepped over their fallen kin towards the dead warriors. I could see the glint of greed in their eyes, they were set on stripping them of their weapons and armor, defacing them and defiling the bodies even further.

The unscathed one who reached the bodies first joined them in several pieces on the floor before I could even consider my own actions. I landed amidst the eviscerated Ork, lashing my flail around me to clear the gore from it, and glared death at its remaining fellows.

“You die in a three-count,” I informed them quietly in Gothic.

One.

The first and quicker of the two raised his shoota and fired three scattered shots. I wove between them, letting the rounds fly harmlessly around me to impact and detonate at the far end of the chapel.

Two.

The second dropped his bolter entirely and charged me, raising a heavy axe and swinging it in a crude arc that wouldn’t have hit me if I were asleep. I stepped around him, slipping past his blows like a stormfront ‘round a mountain, and grinned as the first Ork continued to fire heedless of his own ally, winging him several times. 

Three.

I cut the legs out from under the axe-wielding Ork, and in the same motion drew one of my splinter pistols and unloaded a heavy spray of the neurotoxic shards into the brainpan of the further Ork through its left eye, and he keeled over backwards as his robust but simplistic nervous system was turned into a slurry of meat. The now-legless and last Ork struck the ground with a roar a rage and agony that was ended abruptly as I snapped my flail along the length of his body, splitting him from groin to crown. 

I looked down at the mess and grimaced, then stepped over the Orks to stand over the three women.

_Alessandra _.__

____

____

Sisters of Battle, she had called her kind. Truly, they did look like sisters… any one of them could have been blood-related to Alessandra and the sight of it made my stomach twist in hatred.

“I do not know you,” I said quietly, “and no doubt you would have slain me on sight had you encountered me,” I knelt and reached out, laying a hand over each one, closing their eyes and giving them a semblance of peace. “But she would have had me try to save you, and I… I regret that I could not have done so, if only because I must now tell her that more of her sisters are dead, and she will not smile for me for some time after that.”

Standing, I stared down at them for a few more moments before turning to the doors that had been forced open. From the look of it, the Sisters hadn’t had the opportunity to properly barricade the chapel so it hadn’t been blown open, the double-doors had just been forced in by Orkish muscle.

Striding over to the doors, past the Ork corpses which I studiously avoided the remains of, I put my shoulder to each of the heavy doors and closed them, lowered the large, heavy crossbar that might have preserved the Sisters long enough for me to reach them had they been able to set it, then turned to look over the Shrine.

“Why here?” I mused quietly. “Seeking the protection of your corpse Emperor? Much good it did you.” 

I moved past all of the dead to the statue in the center of the shrine and looked it up and down.

It was a woman, much like the sisters, with its eyes cast down to look over the chapel itself, but it was wearing an older mark of armor than the others and gripping the shaft of a long spear with its tip thrust downward into what looked like a half-decent artistic representation of a chaos spawn. 

“Wait…” I stepped closer to the statue and examined the armor. “Is that…”

My eyes widened.

It was real.


	15. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessandra rides bitch.

A storm had broken over Amphitria.

I found myself watching the rain from inside the bedroom, the windows of the room providing a decent enough view of the outside from where I was able to lay. My entire body still ached, and worse than that… Isarae was still gone.

Sleep came fitfully, but at least this time my sisters weren’t waiting for me in my dreams, and when I woke up again ten hours had passed and Isarae still wasn’t back.

It shouldn’t have troubled me as much as it did, but I was worried. I knew Isarae could take care of herself, and I took her at her word when she told me she would come back to me. Why it was so important that she come back to me was something that I couldn’t quite place, but in the moments before she left all I knew was that I _needed _to hear her make that promise.__

____

____

I needed to know she would come back to me.

“Up,” I muttered raggedly, turning my stiff, compromised body in place until I had my good arm beneath me. “Get… up…”

I pushed, levering my body to a sitting position, then let out a pained breath as agony lanced through me.

Absolutely _everything _hurt.__

____

____

Getting to my feet from the bed was a chore and it was one I did slowly. It consisted largely of doing my best to lower my body weight onto my legs with enough care that they wouldn’t give out. I’d never live it down if Isarae came home to find I’d split my head open trying to stand up. 

“Home…” I chuckled as my legs shook dangerously while holding me up, but hold they did. “This isn’t home… not my home and not hers, so why…?”

Why did I think that?

Many of the children raised in the Schola were war orphans of officers from the Imperial Guard, they were taken in and trained according to their abilities. The Militarum Tempestus, Commissariat, Ministorum, and other organisations drew from the loyal Progena produced by the Schola programmes for their finest warriors and servants.

The sole difference was often the Sororitas.

Sisters were, as often as not, the daughters of nobles or officers remanded into the custody of the Ecclesiarchy, given in tithe to the service of the Emperor. Plenty of my sisters knew their lineage and were proud of it, but I…

I had been Schola from birth.

My parents, whoever they were, had not raised me. I couldn’t recall a single detail about them, I was only ever told they were highly placed figures. I had been raised under the brutal training regimes of the Adepta, trained by the Drill Abbots of the Schola, and beaten into a forged steel blade in service to Him On Earth practically from birth.

Little orphan Alessandra had never had a home, so how would she know what a home looked like?

I staggered through the hall, hugging myself against the cold as I made my way back out into the main room and considered the question.

How indeed.

I remembered Isarae’s voice, strong and beautiful, as she sang in my dreams. I remembered the touch of her hand as she held mine through my nightmares, and the way she put me back onto the bed after I fell, taking care to make sure I was comfortable.

Without warning, a bitter laugh bubbled out of me as I made my way around to the couch and dropped onto it. I laughed as I considered how an Eldar witch had shown me more kindness in a few hours than I’d known in the whole of my life.

I do not regret the Schola’s hard ways. It taught me and forged me, and brought me into the light of the God-Emperor, but…

A touch of kindness would have been nice.

Shivering, I laid down on the couch and took a deep breath, imagining that I could still faintly smell that cold-smoke scent of Isarae from when she’d lain here too.

_Thud ___

____

____

“I thought I told you to sleep, _Cre’yth _.”__

____

____

I bolted up straight and turned to see Isarae stepping through the balcony doors, a satchel almost full to bursting was resting at her feet as she gave me a level look of reproach.

“Isarae… I _did _sleep,” I countered, “are you-”__

____

____

Something matte black was thrown to me, and I just barely caught it.

“If you can walk, then put this on,” Isarae said sternly. “There is somewhere I have to take you if you can manage it.”

I shook the bundle of black mesh and fabric out and felt my breath catch in my throat as I realised what it was.

A spare Sororitas bodyglove, specifically the underarmour portion intended to fit beneath a set of Sororitas-class powered armour. It wasn’t mine, that was still sitting in the washroom covered in Ork remains which meant it came from someone else.

“Where did you get this?” I breathed quietly, turning to look at Isarae who met my gaze evenly. “Isarae? Where did you come across this?”

“Put it on,” was her only reply.

I had no illusions that if a Sororitas squad had come across Isarae they would shoot first and ask questions never. I would have done the same had I been able to move much more than a single limb at a time, and had I any bolter shells, when we had met.

“Isarae,” I began, lowering the bodyglove and biting my lip hard as I tried to keep my composure. “I… I need you to tell me the truth…”

“I have only ever told you the truth, _Cre’yth _,” Isarae said softly.__

____

____

As far as I knew that was correct, but ‘as far as I knew’ was a poor substitute for actually knowing something.

“Then tell me,” I held up the glove towards her, “did you kill one of my sisters for this?”

“If I tell you, will you put it on and come with me?” She asked, and I set my lips to a hard line.

“ _Isarae! _”__

____

____

She sighed, shook her head, then looked me in the eye.

“No, _Cre’yth _,” she replied finally. “I did not kill any of your sisters.”__

____

____

The relief that stormed through my heart was almost a physical force as I let out a sigh. My fingers felt numb and my hands were shaking… I hadn’t wanted to believe that Isarae had killed any of my Order, but I also knew what she was. Isarae was not human, she was Eldar, and worse, _Dark Eldar _… worse than corsairs, worse than the enigmatic seers… they were a supposed race of piratical sadists who would emerge from nothingness to reave whole planets of their populations before vanishing back into their mysterious Webway.__

____

____

And yet, I couldn’t reconcile what I knew about them with Isarae.

She was so gentle.

Well… I thought back to the murals she had painted out of the Orks, and amended that last thought considerably to: ‘she was gentle with me.’

With some difficulty, I pulled the dress over my head and began tugging on the familiar weight of the bodyglove. It was lightly armored and cushioned to hold the weight of powered armour against it, and the feel of it was comforting. I’d spent so long wearing the glove and the armour over it that it felt like a second skin. The compression fabric, too, helped keep my shaking muscles steady as I forced my still mostly-limp left arm through the sleeve.

“Can you…?” I turned my back to Isarae, and gestured to the clasps.

She moved behind me and finished securing them, patting my shoulder when she was done, and I stood on legs that didn’t tremble quite as much as they had before.

Part of that was the compression but the rest, I knew, was in my mind. I felt better being clad in the wargear of my Order again, even if it was just a part of it.

“Here, take this,” Isarae had opened one of the side closets of the main room near the door and pulled out a long coat that she was holding towards me. “It is cold and still raining, and we must move quickly.”

I took the coat and slung it over my shoulders, forcing my left arm through its sleeve manually before following Isarae as she walked over to whatever it was that was tarped in the corner of the room.

“Where are we going?”

Isarae pulled the tarp and I stared at the long, curving blade-shape of the jetbike beneath.

“There is something you must see,” she answered simply, slinging her leg over the saddle, and gesturing for me to join her.

The seat was comfortable, and clearly made for two. I recalled somewhere in my training that the Eldar jetbike was occasionally crewed by two during their raids, one driver and one who would provide supporting fire. These jetbikes were devilishly fast, quicker even than Astartes speeders, and carried a surprisingly effective set of weaponry if rumour was to be believed.

“We will move slowly and carefully,” Isarae began as she cycled up the jetbikes engines. “Low power only… I do not wish to attract any attention, but you cannot move across rooftops as I can.”

“Given practice I’m sure I could manage,” I replied sullenly as I settled into my seat. “And only because my arm is still injured.”

“Keep telling yourself that, _Cre’yth _,” Isarae replied with a touch of laughter hiding behind her tone, and I scowled. “Now, hands go here…”__

____

____

She reached behind herself to my good arm, seized me by the elbow, dragged me forward until I was flush against her, and settled my arm around her waist, and without meaning to, I buried my face against her long, sunrise hair, and couldn’t help taking a breath of it.

I felt myself relax as I took a firm grip around her waist and tried to ignore how… good… this felt.

“Comfortable, Alessandra?” Isarae asked, her voice still hinting at a smile.

“Shut up, Witch,” my reply was harsh but my tone, even to my own surprise, was playful, and she laughed as I settled my chin on her shoulder.

Then she turned and pressed her lips to my cheek.

“Hold on tight.”

I was too startled to reply as Isarae opened the throttle and the jetbike rose from the floor with gravity-defying propulsion and hummed near-silently out of the balcony doors and out into the storm.

Isarae hugged the walls of the spires, keeping the awnings and balconies over us as we soared between the spires. I marveled at how nimble the machine was as she dipped through hairpin turns and took needle-sharp passes that no Imperial vehicle could have managed. 

“I always thought these were much faster,” I mumbled into Isarae’s hair as she leaned into a turn.

“They are,” she replied. “We are operating on base thrust only to keep from detection by any sensory arrays.”

I nodded, and settled myself more comfortably against her. I would never admit it, but laying against her like this, with the jetbike humming gently beneath us and her soft hair against my face, was almost enough to make me forget where we were. I thought, for a moment, that I’d like it very much if we could be elsewhere one day… riding somewhere that wasn’t in the midst of a warzone.

Just the pair of us.

A futile notion.

Between the demands of the Imperial Creed and Isarae’s own deathwish that would never happen, so I pushed the silent admonishments of my upbringing and internal screams of ‘heresy’ into the far, far back of my mind, and resolved to enjoy what little I could.

We rode for less than an hour before swinging around a corner and leveling out on approach to a small chapel that, from the designs and symbology, was probably kept and managed by a detachment of my own Order. The damage to it, though, did not bode well for the sisters who would have been inside, and I braced myself for the worst as Isarae sidled the bike around the side, then the back, then to the opposite side we approached from a window that was blown out.

I started to protest as she angled the jetbike towards the window. Surely it was far too small!

But before I could speak, Isarae’s hand swept around to the back of my head and pulled me down with her as she ducked low and shot forward, twisting the jetbike so we were briefly and vertiginously upside down, and passed us through the aperture with barely a fingerswidth to spare between chassis and rockcrete.

Isarae expertly swung the tail of her bike around and brought the vehicle to rest at level with the floor where it hovered contentedly, purring like a hunting cat just above stonework.

“Dismount,” Isarae said, and I carefully pried my hands from around her waist where they had locked when she’d performed her maneuver. “I’ve set the kinetic brakes, so it won’t move,” she dropped off of it, then offered me a hand.

Without thinking, I took the offer and stepped cautiously off of the lightweight vehicle, my mind screaming at me that it wasn’t secured to anything and would shift the moment I put my weight anywhere. It didn’t, though, and Isarae took a firm grip on my hand to allow me to step comfortably to the floor.

“Thank you,” I muttered, a little sullenly as I realised she’d treated me like a noble’s daughter on her first ride.

“Do not thank me here, _Cre’yth _,” Isarae’s voice had lost all of its mischief as she turned to gesture to the chapel. “I was far too late to owed your thanks.”__

____

____

I followed the line of her arm to the statue in the center of the chapel.

And to the three bodies laid in state beneath it.


	16. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae feels things, and she does not approve.

The sound of my heartbeat was deafening.

“Sisters?”

This was the part I had been dreading. 

“I was too late,” I repeated quietly. “Too late to do anything but avenge them.”

Alessandra doffed the coat she’d been wearing beside the jetbike and walked slowly over to the bodies of her sisters. I had pulled them beneath the statue and laid them side-by-side, seeing her fallen sisters would be bad enough, I knew, I had not wanted to Alessandra to see them laying amidst the ruin of Ork I’d made.

“Did you do this?” Alessandra asked softly, looking up at me as she knelt beside the bodies. “Not the… that is, I know that you didn’t kill them, these wounds are from Ork shootas… did you-?”

“It took me some time, but yes,” I nodded, gesturing up to the statue of the spear-wielding woman. “I assume she was some important figure to them, and to you, and it seemed right.”

“Why?” Alessandra’s voice was hollow as she reached out and laid a hand on the cheek of one of the fallen women.

“I told you, it seemed right,” I replied sharply.

“That’s not enough of a reason for you to do this much,” Alessandra stood and gave me a hard look. “You clearly moved them from where they fell to lay in state beneath the eyes of Saint Arabella… why?!”

“Should I not have?” I snapped, and Alessandra held up a placating hand.

“I… I didn’t mean that,” she took a deep breath and stepped away from her sisters’ bodies and closer to me, close enough to reach out with her good hand towards me. “Isarae, why did you move them there? Why did you bother?”

“I had to bring you here,” I began quietly, staring at her offered hand. She didn’t pull back, or draw away, she just stood there holding it out like an offering.

I took it, and I found her grip was pleasantly strong.

“And?”

“And I did not want you to see them as they were,” I admitted, “I did not want to see the look on your face, and I did not want to hear the pain in your voice,” I looked over at the bodies and grimaced. “And I knew that you would bring them there, even with your wounded arm, so I moved them first.”

Her hand tightened on mine for a moment before letting go, and Alessandra stepped away to turn back to her sisters. I watched her as she stared down at their ruined bodies, there had been only so much I could do for them, obviously. No amount of respect could knit together a blown-out chest or piece together a severed arm, but they were laid beside one another, in death as they were in life, and their eyes were closed as if in rest.

“It’s said,” Alessandra began suddenly, “that Saint Arabella was the most even-tempered of the Saint Alicia Dominica’s companions, and that miracles would regularly occur in her presence.” She turned to regard me with those emerald eyes cast over her shoulder for a moment. “Scripture holds that where her gaze fell, miracles happened, and so chapels like this one always have Arabella’s eyes cast down to look at whoever is praying before her statues.”

“There were no miracles for these warriors,” I replied, my mouth twisting as I met Alessandra’s eyes. “They died as bitterly as any of your kind.”

“Maybe,” Alessandra nodded, “but it is our purpose to die in service to Him On Earth, as martyrs of the faith,” she turned away from me and knelt again, bowing her head to her sisters. “But beneath the gaze of Saint Arabella, patron of the Order of the Sacred Rose that birthed my own Order of Radiant Wisteria, a miracle did occur.”

“I must have missed it,” I said dryly.

“That’s quite a feat, then,” Alessandra gave a small, sad laugh. “Since the miracle was you.”

I raised an eyebrow and let out a harsh bark of laughter.

“How do you reach _that _conclusion?” I asked, stepping up beside her and lower myself to the balls of my feet, and leaning on my knees.__

____

____

“Look,” Alessandra gestured to the bodies. “You kept my sisters’ bodies, their holy wargear, and the shrine they gave their lives for, from being defiled by the Greenskin. Then you avenged their deaths, and _then _you carried their broken bodies to lay before the eyes of their Patron Sister, whose name was probably on their lips as they died.”__

____

____

Words, for once, failed me. I wanted to tell her that it was ridiculous, but the truth of the matter was that she had not spoken a single inaccurate word. I had done each of those things… that I had done them for Alessandra was inconsequential, the matter held that I had done them.

“You,” she reached out and poked a finger into my chest, “a dark one, a xenobreed pirate and self-admitted murderess, ensured that my beloved sisters’ deaths had meaning.” Her smile was sad, but real, as she raised her hand laid it on my cheek. “Is that not a little bit like a miracle?”

“I did it for you,” I replied quietly, but Alessandra just smiled, then leaned in and wrapped her arms around me, and pulled me close in an embrace.

“That does not make it less of a miracle, Isarae,” she replied as she buried her face against my neck. “Thank you for protecting my sisters from ruin, and for saving this shrine, and… and for everything.” Hot, wet tears flowed across my shoulder as I raised my arms to return the embrace. “Thank you, Isarae… thank you.”

Something cold bit into my soul as I held onto Alessandra. It was a deep, wintery pain that crept across me like a shadow, while Alessandra held onto me and mourned her sisters, and as I held her close, I could feel something cracking open inside of me.

The shadows seemed to deepen to my eyes and, as I held Alessandra tight, I felt it.

A warm, wet tear slid down my cheek.

“Impossible,” I murmured the word so softly that it was barely a breath. I had not wept in… stars, how long?

There was pain and it was rising in my chest like a mass of razors, but it wasn’t coming through my psychic senses. This was no warp echo of Alessandra’s agony at surviving beyond yet more of her sisters.

This was normal, painfully average, _sympathetic pain. ___

____

____

The unfamiliar iron tang of panic rose through me and I reached up, gripped Alessandra’s shoulders, and pushed her roughly away, holding her at arm’s length. The look on her face was shot through with surprise that slowly shifted to confusion as I stared intently into her eyes.

“What are you?” I hissed, and Alessandra’s eyes widened. “You don’t carry the tainted warp-stink of a _Mon-Keigh _psyker, so what are you?”__

____

____

“I don’t understand,” her voice was small and pained, “of course I’m not a psyker, I would have been sanctioned!”

“Then how are you doing this?!” I snarled, and she jerked back from me.

Another stab of pain slipped through my defenses into my heart and, on reflex, I held her from pulling back any further.

“Isarae what-?”

“Pain,” I spat the word like a curse, “I’m feeling _pain! _”__

____

____

Alessandra looked me up and down in alarm. “You’re hurt?”

“NO!” I snapped, “I’m feeling pain because you’re in pain! Because I…” I bit my lip, “I don’t… I don’t want _you _to be in pain! And I can’t stop it and it… it hurts!”__

____

____

Shadows thickened around me, and from far in the distance came the sound of silver bells. A faint, cloying incense began to fill my nostrils, and a deep, utterly primordial fear trickled into my heart.

“You’re doing something to me, _Cre’yth, _” I pulled away from her and stood, pressing the heels of my palms to my face over my eyes. “It’s like you’re… you’re reaching inside me and wrenching something loose.”__

____

____

Soft, mellifluous laughter echoed from somewhere far distant, and the sound of drums and atonal flutes followed them. I could taste sugar on my tongue, trailed by something salty like blood. 

_He’s coming for me. ___

____

____

“Stop whatever you’re doing,” I commanded, but Alessandra just looked baffled.

“I… I’m not doing anything!” she cried, “I swear on the God-Emperor, I’m not doing anything!”

“LIAR!” I gripped my head tight as the whispers grew louder and I staggered backward until my back struck the wall of the chapel. “You… You must be doing something… it’s… I can’t…”

Cool hands pressed to my cheeks, then took my wrists, and pulled my hands from my eyes. Alessandra was looking at me with pure worry on her face, her eyes were wide with concern, and she’d shed the gloves of her bodyglove to press the back of her bare hand to my forehead, then to my neck.

“You’re burning,” she muttered. “You’re sick?”

“Warp sick,” I spat. “My soul is burning, searing at the walls of my flesh, and shrieking its agony into the Empyrean!”

“Tell me what to do!” Alessandra stepped closer, and her scent filled my nose, chasing the clinging, sickly-sweet odors of the warp from it.

I stared into her eyes, and that lovely face that I had come to care for so deeply. I don’t know how, it should be impossible, but somehow Alessandra was reaching into the depths of my Aeldari soul and rattling it free enough of the jaded apathy of my kind to make me feel again. It had been happening all this time, I realised… being around her had been like a narcotic at first, my dulled senses loosening for the first time in millennia and allowing me to taste those subtle flavors of emotion I had missed for centuries.

Now, though, I realise it had nothing to do with feeding.

It was because I was starting to _feel _again.__

____

____

“Isarae, please!” Alessandra begged, “tell me what to do and I’ll do it!”

There was something she could do, or rather something I could do. I could drink from her, satisfy the Thirst and chase away the shadows of The Great Serpent. It would only last for a short time, but… but perhaps if I were careful I could take just a little, just enough to stave it off and then find someone else.

The thought of taking from Alessandra like that, though, was an almost palpable agony

“Please,” she repeated softly, leaning in to press her forehead to mine. “I can’t lose you.”

Damn her.

“If I take from you,” I said quietly, “if I _drink _from you… it will shorten your lifespan, it will weaken you.”__

____

____

She pulled back and looked me in the eyes cautiously.

“How much?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know… I’ve never taken from the willing before, and never moderated myself like this. I will… try to drink only sparingly, but it may be on the order of years, and in the short term you may fall ill.”

“Will you look after me if I do?”

I gave her a weak smile.

“Always.”

Alessandra looked pensive for a moment, then nodded. “Go ahead, then… do it.”

I stared into her eyes, trying to fix them in my mind as I licked my lips, swallowed hard, then nodded. I took her into my arms and turned her, pressed her against the wall of the chapel, and leaned in. I pressed my lips gently to her neck, and she let out a soft cry of want as I trailed kisses up to her jaw. I placed a soft kiss over each eye, another on each cheek, then stopped as my lips hovered near hers

What was about to follow would not be pleasant for her, I wanted to, at least… I just wanted her to know that I didn’t want to hurt her.

“Brace yourself, _Cre’yth, _” I said softly, and I took her wrists and pinned them to either side of her. “I will try to be gentle.”__

____

____

She gave me a small nod and on her say-so I leaned in to press my lips to hers, forcing back the urge to drink from her immediately. I wanted to feel them as they were now, soft and yielding to me, wanting me, approving of me… because I sincerely doubted I would ever taste that from her again after this.

I’m sorry, the thought slipped unbidden through my mind as I pressed deeper, sliding my tongue against her mouth, pushing in and dominating her and as she yielded completely to me until finally… 

I _drank. ___

____

____

…

_GOLD. ___

____

____

My eyes shot wide as I drank from Alessandra’s soul, and a soft moan escaped my lips. I pulled her closer as I drank deeper and deeper… her soul was like nothing I had _ever _tasted. Nothing in all the millennia and all the worlds even began to compare. It was like drinking in liquid sunlight, warming me from the inside out, blinding me, and the shadows seemed to vanish, torn away by the light of day, the laughter and the cloying perfumes faded, and with them the cavorting, chaotic, atonal music of their master’s halls.__

____

____

_I… need more… I need… I need to… ___

____

____

_STOP! ___

____

____

I pulled back, staggering away from Alessandra and gasping for breath, and Alessandra slumped to the ground. Her breathing was coming in hard gulps, but I took some solace in the fact that at least she was still breathing as I caught my own breath. I felt good, I felt nourished… no, far more than that, I felt vital.

That could only mean I had taken too much.

“Alessandra!?” I moved to her side, cradling her in my arms and pulling her close to me, “Alessandra, please… are you-”

“Wow,” Alessandra eyes fluttered open and she stared up at me, her cheeks were flushed and her lips swollen slightly from the intensity of the kiss, and there was a heat to her gaze that surprised me. “That… that wasn’t nearly as terrible as I thought it would be.”

I stared down at her in disbelief.

“Impossible,” for the second time this hour I was faced with an impossible scenario. “I must have drunk enough from your soul to leave you unhinged… you should be barely clinging to life!”

She shook her head, nestling a little closer in my arms. “I feel fine.”

“You should, at the very least, feel ill,” I pressed, but she shook her head. “Weak?” another shake of her head. “Anything?!”

“Warm,” she said softly, “but not sick or ill… I feel normal.”

I let out a breath of relief and pulled Alessandra close, hugging to her to my chest as I pressed my lips to the crown of her head before raising my eyes to the statue. The eyes of the woman with soft features, flowing hair, and the down-thrust spear caught me and set an uncomfortable doubt in my mind.

Saint Arabella.

_Impossible. ___


	17. Sated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessandra does what is necessary.

The sound of my heartbeat was deafening.

For a time that thunderous beat was all I could hear as I laid in Isarae’s arms, and I felt some satisfaction that there was no trace of the fever-sick warmth to her skin that had been there a few moments ago. Moreover, there was something different to Isarae now, and the way she held me was so gentle, and her fingers kept brushing over my hand as if to assure herself I was still there.

The muffled explosions beyond the chapel walls, however, reminded me that this was not the place to rest. What had happened here, and something had happened beyond the obvious, this wasn’t the place to handle it.

With some reluctance, I stood, pulling out of Isarae’s grip. She let go, but only just, perhaps come to the same conclusion I had as she stood up next to me.

“You’re certain you are alright, Alessandra?” She asked, cautiously reaching out.

I intercepted her hand with mine, drawing it forward and putting it to my cheek. One thing that had changed between us was my suspicion… even until a few hours ago I still wondered if Isarae’s story about her intentions was just that, a story. I wondered if I was being toyed with and strung along, used for some terrible plot against the Imperium.

The moment she had brought me to this chapel, that had faded, and the fear and accusation in her voice when she demanded to know what I was doing to her made it all but vanish.

I leaned into her touch and nodded.

“See?” I gave her a faint smile, “I’m perfectly fine.”

She shook her head. 

“I still say that’s not possible,” Isarae insisted. “Do you know what the Thirst is? I drank from the well of your very _soul _… the effects should have been immediate and terrible.”__

____

__

“The Emperor protects,” I said softly, and Isarae scoffed. “You laugh, but you say what happened is impossible, yes?” Isarae nodded tentatively. “But it happened,” I gestured down to myself, “I’m unharmed, I was protected… I do not need you to believe in my faith, Isarae, but I know that the God-Emperor watches over me, as he does all of his subjects.”

“Well, let us hope he continues to watch over you,” Isarae said wearily, waving aside the conversation. “For now, we should do what I intended to do when I brought you here and move on, there’s no telling how long we have before another looting party happens along.”

“What did you intend?”

Isarae gestured to me. “You need armor, and yours cannot be easily repaired, if it can be repaired at all.”

I grimaced and turned to my fallen sisters.

“Isarae, even were I comfortable taking from the dead,” I pointed out the grievous battle damage, “I doubt any of the machine spirits within my sisters’ wargear are still functional.” I eyed the left arms of their suits, then shook my head. “And I don’t know enough of the Rites of Armament and Repair to trust that I would be able to change out parts from one suit to another.”

“You won’t need to,” Isarae replied, shaking her head. “Just use the intact set.”

She gestured towards my sisters and I raised an eyebrow, turned to look at them, then turned back to Isarae.

“There isn’t an intact set.”

Isarae gestured wordlessly at my sisters again and… no, I turned to look at them, looked back at Isarae and eyed her disbelievingly for a moment, then followed the angle of her hand not to my sisters…

But to the statue of Arabella.

And to the suit of Artificer Power Armour adorning it.

“No!” I snapped my gaze back to Isarae. “I am not defiling a shrine of _my own Order _for armour!”__

____

____

“Defiling it?” Isarae barked out a laugh. “Oh, I see! Then let us move along! I’m sure the Orks will treat that armour,” she gestured sharply at the statue, “with all the respect it deserves when they arrive!”

I blanched, my soul recoiling at the notion of what an Ork Mek would do to one of our sacred relics.

“It’s a holy relic!” I countered, flailing as I tried to come up with an alternative. “That armour belonged to a martyred Canoness of the Order of Radiant Wisteria!, it’s not mine to take and wear as I please!”

“Then once again,” Isarae said acidly, “if you’re so certain I suppose we’ll leave it up there!”

“That’s not fair, Isarae!” I snapped as I advanced on her. “You can’t just take a relic from its reliquary! There are rites, rituals, and observances to be made before removing even a single piece from the statue!”

Isarae’s expression could have dried up an ocean world.

“I’m certain your sainted sister would understand our need for _haste, _” she replied tightly.__

____

____

“I…”

I turned to stare up at the armour, a tremor setting up in my legs as I realised I was truly considering Isarae’s words. I was actually considering climbing up the statue of Saint Arabella and prying the armour of a dead Canoness off of her, and donning it myself.

Isarae sighed.

“Either we take it,” she extended one palm up, “or we destroy it,” she held up the other, and I felt my gorge rise much worse at that notion. “To do anything else would mean giving it over to the Orks.”

Slowly, I approached the statue, stopping at my sisters’ feet and staring up at into the eyes of Saint Arabella. It was said that she was the most even-tempered of all the Companions, that when the heated heads and hearts of her sisters waxed choleric, she was the voice of wisdom and reasoned counsel.

“I will not lay a hand upon that armour unless you permit it, Alessandra,” Isarae said softly as she approached from behind me and laid a hand on my shoulder. “But you must decide quickly.”

Even temper, wisdom, and reason.

“What else is here that we need?” I asked simply, and Isarae raised an eyebrow at me before nodding and gesturing behind the statue.

“There’s a cache of supplies in the backmost section of the chapel-”

“-the sanctum-”

“-as you say… I found ammunition for your weapon, blessed rounds I suspect, as well as ration bars, purified water, and kits of what appear to be oils and ashes.”

I nod at each point, speaking only at the last one. “Those are for Arming Rites, gather them up and secure them to the bike, I will deal with retrieving the armour.”

“With one arm?” Isarae turned to me with a level look, and nodded again.

“If we are taking it, we will do it as correctly as possible under the circumstances,” I insisted, “I will countenance nothing less.”

Isarae sighed, then shrugged again with that oddly human mannerism of hers, and not for the first time I wondered if it was a shared cultural trait or merely a copied affectation for my sake.

“As you say, then,” Isarae turned and trotted off behind the statue towards the sanctum. I was not thrilled with the notion of her rooting around on holy ground, but as it stood I could only demand so much.

Those supplies existed to arm Sisters of Battle against the foes of mankind, leaving them for the Orks to use as they would, possibly using them to kill _other Sisters _was utterly beyond consideration. If we had to bend a few theological niceties to ensure our own sacred bolt rounds weren’t being fired at us, then so be it.__

____

____

“Forgive me, Blessed Arabella,” I muttered.

With some difficulty, I clambered up the statue and began the slow, painstaking process of removing the power armour. Each piece was fastened and secured with sacred oaths and scripts, and I untied each one with reverence, reciting the catechisms scribed onto each one as I did.

I began with the gauntlets, couter, and vambraces, admiring their sheen and polish as I removed them from the wrists and hands of the saint. The Sisters who kept this shrine must have been exceptionally diligent about keeping the shrine tidy because keeping anything this clean in a Hive city was quite a task.

“ _A spiritu dominatus, domine, libra nos. _”__

____

____

Cradling the first gauntlet and vambrace with care, I carried it down and set it before my fallen sisters.

“From the lightning and the tempest, our Emperor deliver us.”

I retrieved the second set a moment later and it joined its sister on the ground.

“From plague, temptation, and war, our Emperor deliver us.”

The rerebrace and pauldrons were next, and I had to move with great care as each one of the latter was heavy and unwieldy, but I forced myself to remain balanced as I carried them down in turn and set them in place.

“From the scourge of the Kraken, our Emperor deliver us.”

I unfastened the sabatons, bringing them down next.

“From the blasphemy of the fallen, our Emperor deliver us.”

The poleyns, and cuisses came after that.

“From the begetting of daemons, our Emperor deliver us.”

Second to last came the gorget from around the Saint’s neck, and I took even greater care there as I moved my right hand around for leverage, and was forced to use my half-numb left arm for the unfastening.

“From the curse of the mutant, our Emperor deliver us.”

I let out a weary breath as I lowered myself down with the precious piece of sanctified armor and set it in place before looking up at the most difficult part, the full cuirass, and bracing myself before extending my hands and arms, palms up, and raising my head and voice in prayer.

“ _A morte perpetua, domine, libra nos. _That thou wouldst bring them only death, That thou shouldst spare none, that thou shouldst pardon none, we beseech thee… destroy them.”__

____

____

The prayer complete, I moved up and along the length of the statue and slowly, by inches, released the sacred seals of the armor, taking the weight of it onto my back and shoulders as I slipped the breastplate and tassets free of the statue, and began the arduous, half-blind journey down the stone monument to the floor.

It was a close thing, but I made it, and I lowered the last piece of the armour onto the ground. Now it lay as a fourth body, empty of flesh, beside my fallen sisters.

“Emperor On Earth I beseech thy mercy eternal,” I began softly. “Know that thy beloved daughters have fallen in service to thine name, and may the eternal light of the Astronomicon bear them to thy side… I take now their charge to carry with me, oh Holy Master of Mankind, to safeguard it from the depredation of the alien, the mutant, and the heretic, until such time as it may be returned to thy care.” I bowed my head again, pressing it to the floor. “ _Ave Imperator ad Domine Aeternum. _”__

____

____

“Alessandra?” Isarae’s voice was low and respectful, and I raised my head to turn and regard her. “We must go, and quickly.”

In the process of my ritual dismantling of the armour, she had already laden the jetbike with as much of the sanctum’s supplies as it could easily carry. I wasn’t surprised, I had been entirely focused on my task, and any distraction might have been disastrous considering the weight I’d been bearing down off of the statue.

On the contrary, I was grateful she hadn’t tried to offer her help. As much as I would have appreciated it, I could not have permitted an alien to handle a sacred task. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her, but some things must be done properly, after all.

“We have to secure the armour, too,” I nodded towards the bike.

“You cannot wear it, then.” It was more of a statement than a question, and I nodded my agreement.

“Even were I willing to arm myself without the proper sanctions and rites, which I am not,” I added the last part at Isarae’s expression, “it has no power cell, and I do not want to risk removing one of the ones from my fallen sisters’ in case the containment unit is damaged.” I glanced over at my sisters’ bodies and sighed. “No, it will have to be the unit from my own armour… and these…”

Isarae raised an eyebrow as I trailed off with a grimace before looking back up at the alien I’d begun to take into my confidence… the Eldar I had begun to care for more than any daughter of the God-Emperor ought to.

“What?”

I could feel my mouth twisting in distaste as I asked my next and final question.

“Isarae… how unstable can you make those power cores?”

* * *

We were not more than a handful of kilometers from the chapel when a muffle detonation shook the air and I buried my face against Isarae’s shoulder as I shuddered with the weight of what I had just permitted her to do.

“From what I know of your kind,” Isarae began quietly, “I think your sisters would have approved.”

In death, my sisters had made one final act of vengeance by acting as decoys for the next troop of Greenskins to pass through the chapel. Their armour was cleaned and polished as quickly as I had been able, and each one was left resting slouched against one of the main supports of the temple with their power cores set to maximum burn and linked to a hastily rigged proximity trigger.

I had left a shortwave cycling vox on the Sororitas battle frequency warning any of my sisters who might come to the chapel of our ruse as I highly doubted that Orks would be able to pierce Adeptus Sororitas encryption protocols, even if they could be bothered to try.

Then we had left, a short while later our trap had been triggered, consuming my sisters’ bodies, along with the chapel, in holy flame, and burying the Greenskins who had come to loot and pillage it beneath hundreds of tonnes of rockcrete.

“Thank you for doing that,” I whispered back. “I would not have had the heart.”

Isarae glanced back at me for a moment, nodded slightly, leaned in, and brushed her lips against my cheek.

“For you, Alessandra,” Isarae replied, “I would do anything.”

The way she said those words made me shiver, not because I feared them or because they made me uneasy, but because I was afraid that the feeling might very well be mutual.


	18. Interact - Into War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a novice Seer of Craftworld Iybraesil argues with family.

Though no one looking at the hills would know it, the stretch of terrain north and east of Amphitria was a hive of activity.

For the past thirty solar cycles the webway portal secreted away beneath the surface of Praelex V had been opening and closing like an irritated eye, disgorging small numbers of Iybraesil Aeldarii at a time, and slowly a base camp had been established.

“How long will we be here, Menesa?” The questioner’s voice was irritated and tight and, not for the first time, I sighed.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

_Again. ___

____

____

“I only know what I saw,” I gestured out toward the burning Mon-Keigh Hive City. “Somewhere in that mass of dead metal and stone is a grave threat.”

The response was another annoyed grunt.

Rhea and I had never precisely gotten along, despite being sisters. She had walked better than a dozen paths before being called to the Shrine of the Howling Banshee, and with her temper no one had been particularly surprised. I know mother had been hoping her eldest would follow her Path of Shaping, but the Shrine call was an honorable one, especially in Iybraesil.

Ever since I had arrived on this miserable world, Rhea in tow with a unit of banshees to begin preparations for our forward camp, things had been tense.

She didn’t trust me, no one did. I was young, inexperienced, and, oh yes, I’d just blown up a tower.

All of that culminated in Rhea standing before me in my small workspace as I sat staring down at my runestones, wondering if I should give searching for the ‘coincidence’ another go and risk blowing up the camp too.

My sister was beautiful, like all Banshees, with a cascade of Ink-black hair framing a face as pale as wraithbone. She had the long, taut build of a warrior, her body practically hummed with restrained violence, and I had a notion, seeing her here, that Rhea might one day put on her war mask and never take it off.

“You’re certain you saw something?” She asked.

Again.

“Yes, sister mine,” I replied acidly. “For the tenth time, I am absolutely sure. Do you really think Farseer Oreval would have pressed for a movement of the warhost if I hadn’t?”

“I think Farseer Oreval is far too indulgent of you,” Rhea responded, and I felt my lip twist downward.

I stood sharply up in front of my sister and jabbed a finger up into her face.

“Say what you want about me, Rhea, Ancestors know you’ve never had an issue with _that, _” I snarled, setting her back a step. “But don’t you _dare _disparage Master Oreval, he sees further than any of us, Rhea, and you know it!”____

_____ _

_____ _

“I-!”

“And furthermore,” I continued, advancing on her, “whether you respect me as your blood or not, I was placed in charge of this excursion so you _will _respect that I am your superior, _is that clear?! _”____

_____ _

_____ _

Rhea’s pale eyes were wide with surprise for several seconds. I could see the fury burning behind her eyes, and practically taste the buzz of psychic pressure building around. Then it faded as she let out a quiet breath, dipped her head, and muttered an apology.

I sighed, rubbing at my temples as I did. The headache was getting worse, and I couldn’t account for it’s source.

“There is danger here, Rhea,” I started quietly. “More than I or Master Oreval can even begin to see, even with the runes.”

“They are Orks and _Mon-Keigh, _” Rhea said dryly. “I am not overly worried.”__

____

____

“I’m not talking about them,” I replied, waving my hand dismissively and moving back to my runes to sit before them. “Do you know what an augury is?”

“A simple working of the Sight for coming dangers,” Rhea answered with a shrug. “One is performed for us each time we are loosed.”

“Do you know what happened with this one?” I asked, and she raised an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you that it’s better than half the reason the Elders agreed to this mission.”

“I… I do not,” Rhea admitted, and I gestured for her to sit across from me.

“Watch.”

As my sister sat down, I gathered the runes, focusing on them the way I had been taught, following the ritual path of mental mnemonics to lead me into the proper mental state to tap the augur runes.

Psychic energy crackled around us as I cupped the stones in my hand, raised them high, then in a single motion dropped them and, at the same time, released the pent up psychic pressure.

The stones clattered to the wraithbone floor and half of them rattled to a stop.

The others had struck the ground on their tips and were now spinning rapidly in place like a compass in a wild gravity field.

I stared at Rhea flatly over the spinning stones.

“In case you’re unaware,” I gestured to the still-rattling stones, “they don’t usually do that.”

She opened her mouth and I held up a forestalling hand.

“And yes, I did it correctly,” I answered her question before it could come out. “It’s the same thing that happened when Master Oreval did it, and when Farseer Kalanthes did it, _and _when Farseer Yma did it.”__

____

____

Rhea was silent for a long while as she stared at the stones. They continued to spin, making a sound like crude knucklebones on a gambling board as my sister watched them until finally, she looked up at me with a sober expression.

“What could it possibly mean?”

I sighed again.

“That even fate cannot say what dangers lay in that city,” I gestured out towards the Hive. “These stones?” I gestured to the ones laying flat on the ground, “indicate danger from Orks, obviously, and the _Mon-Kiegh, _which we knew.”__

____

____

“And these?” She pointed to a few I’d passed over.

“Bad weather,” I replied, “in another ten cycles or so the weather will turn and dump half an ocean on the Hive.”

“Good cover to enter the city from,” Rhea remarked, and I smiled faintly before nodding.

“That was my intention.”

Rhea nodded slowly, her eyes still fixated on the spinning runestones.

“How… how bad is it?” She finally asked.

I shook my head and swept the runestones up from the ground, silencing the endless rattling.

“There’s no way to know,” I replied. “It could be nothing, or it could turn the tide of the future,” I pocketed the runes and leaned back on my elbows to stare up at the swirling patterns of the wraithbone ceiling. “It’s total freedom from fate… this coincidence hasn’t been accounted for by any Aeldari Farseer or Chaos Witch, not even the Architect of Fate has woven an outcome for this.”

“It’s an anomaly of fate, then,” Rhea offered, and I nodded. “Do we know what it is yet?”

I kept staring at the whorls and ghostly echoes of power rippling through the psychoactive plastic material. What indeed? I’d given it a great deal of thought, posed my ideas to Oreval multiple times, but in the end, it was all just supposition and guesswork.

“My instincts say it's a living being,” I spoke quietly, tugging on the fraying threads of my intuition. “I don’t have any proof of that, nor do I suspect that there is any, but if I were to hazard a guess? Human.”

“Why?” Rhea didn’t sound accusatory for once, and I rocked back forward so I was meeting her eyes. “Why human? Why not another Aeldari?”

“Because each and every one of our souls is accounted for,” I gestured to our Spirit Stones. “Even our Drukhari cousins, the Great Serpent knows the taste of each of their souls.”

“Then Orks?” Rhea posed. “Orks are unpredictable, chaotic-”

“Not at all,” I gestured out to the city again. “Orks are driven by a single mighty need, and that need is woven through the flesh and psyche of their entire brutish kind. They do not question it, they follow the siren call of their migratory Waaagh’s wherever they lead.” I recalled studying maps of some of the greater invasions in Oreval’s archives and shuddered. “They move like the path of a storm, destructive, but ultimately predictable.”

“The _Mon-Keigh? _But they’re so…” Rhea twisted her lip as she tried to find the word before settling on, “weak.”__

____

____

I laughed openly, drawing a dark scowl from her.

“Weak?” I asked bitterly. “Look around us, sister… look where humans have made their homes! Ice worlds, dead satellites, worlds scorched by warptaint, and they not only live there they _thrive! _” I shook my head in disbelief. “These weak, fragile creatures, with little foresight and less power, have beaten and hammered the greater breadth of the galaxy into submission by sheer persistence and dogged determination that would beggar the surliest Ork.”__

____

____

“You sound almost as if you admire them,” Rhea spoke, her voice now taking its more customary accusatory tone with me. “They are lesser beings.”

“Then we are being beaten by lesser beings,” I snapped, and Rhea’s face flushed with anger. “Look around us, Rhea, our people are _dying, _our civilisation is as good as! We’re barely clinging on, and more of us fade with every passing century!”__

____

____

“So you will just give up on our people?!” Rhea snarled, “you would have us just lay down and die?!”

“No,” I held out a placating hand. “But we cannot risk failing to respect the danger that humanity presents like so many of our kind seem to,” I grimaced, moving my hands down to my case of runestones, “even Master Oreval discounts them, and in this one instance I truly believe he is wrong.”

“Why?” Rhea’s voice was almost pleading. “By Khaine’s bloody hand, sister, _why? _”__

____

____

“Because Aeldari want to live… and Orks want to fight…” I listed off, then laughed. “But humans?” I shook my head, my laughter rising. “I still have no idea what humans actually _want. _”__

____

____

I had seen humans pitch themselves into the shrieking maw of Chaos out of sheer spite and something I could only tentatively call ‘gumption’. I’d seen them spit in the faces of Exarchs and Daemons alike, and then, somehow, win the day. I’d seen them lose battles with smiles on their faces as they died on a world they burned just so someone else couldn’t have it.

“In my mind,” I said evenly, “in this latter and fading era, only a human could make a decision so irrational that it would balk fate not once but _twice. _”__

____

____

Silence descended on us as Rhea lowered her head, looking thoughtful and calm for the first time I could remember in a very long time. It was not often that the tension of anger left her face, but now I could see the sister I once knew so well beneath all the violence and death that had buried her for so long.

I found that I missed her very much.

“You’re certain?” Rhea asked.

“Not at all,” I replied with a weak laugh. “I’m a novice… barely trained, but Master Oreval always said I had good instincts, and he told me that was what made a great Farseer in the end.”

Rhea nodded at that, then raised her eyes to meet mine. It had been a long time since I’d stared into those sea-dark eyes, so much like our fallen father’s. I knew why she hated humans, the _Mon-Keigh… _it was rare to know an Aeldarii who did not know someone who had been buried under the hammer of the human ‘Imperium’ and their xenophobic zealots. Our father was one of them, one of thousands of others… not even his Spirit Stone made it back to Iybraesil’s Infinity Circuit in the end.__

____

____

In all likelihood, it had been crushed under the bootheel of a human soldier.

And yet, unlike my sister, I could not hate the humans.

Perhaps because I pitied them.

One only had to glance at the furious bloom of the red moon’s eye, what the humans called the Eye of Terror, to remember what our kind had wrought upon the galaxy. There was no race in all the known systems that did not bear the right to hate our kind for what we had done.

Our kind was, in all truth, unforgivable in that regard.

“When do we move then?” Rhea asked, breaking me out of my reverie.

I collected my scattered thoughts and met her gaze. “Twelve cycles of this world’s sun, by then the downpour will be nearing its worst, and we will have the greatest cover.”

“And then we hunt,” Rhea’s face tensed into a cold, predatory smile, and I matched it a weary one of my own.

“Yes,” I agreed, “and we also discover just how dangerous a coincidence truly is.”


	19. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae slows down.

It’s strange, what you can get used to.

“Faster! A grot could hit you moving like that.”

Once I would have imagined training a human zealot to be beyond possibility.

Crack

“Faster!”

Alessandra weathered my first hit, then ducked and wove around my next, her fists lashing out with punishing force a breath later and striking nothing but air. I smirked with each missed blow, and with each attack that I’d seen coming entire seconds before they’d been launched.

“How,” Alessandra gasped, “are you…” she lashed combinations of spinning kicks out that soared over my head, “always so _fast? _”__

____

__

In the moment when all of her weight was balanced on her left leg, I dropped low and snapped out a strike to the tendons of her knee. Her leg bowed and she crumpled with a squawk of alarm, dropping gracelessly onto the floor, sweating and panting as she rolled onto her back and stared sullenly up at the ceiling.

I stood over her and she glared up at me. Her pale hair was plastered to her face and neck, while sweat-soaked her sleeveless training top giving me quite a view as she heaved in breath after breath. As I held out my hand for her I could see her considering trying to attack me from the floor and trying her luck again.

Just like last time.

“Enough, _Cre’yth, _” I admonished her before she could make the attempt. “We rest now, you’ll grow stronger with time.”__

____

____

Alessandra rolled her eyes, then nodded as she reached up to grip my forearm, and let me heave her to her feet.

“You’re faster than anyone I’ve ever fought,” Alessandra groaned as she got clumsily upright, then stretched to the tune of a few cracks and pops. “Not even Sister Kalion was in your league.”

“Few humans would be,” I pointed out. “A Wych of Commorragh, at least one who survives more than a few bouts, undergoes training that would balk one of your genhanced Astartes, in addition to a regime of chemical and surgical enhancement.”

“So you’re cheating,” Alessandra said playfully, and I smirked at her as I snatched up a flask of water and tossed it to her.

“No more than your own ‘Angels of Death’,” I countered.

She caught it with her arm, her left arm, and I smiled and nodded towards it.

“How is it coming along?”

Alessandra raised an eyebrow, then glanced at her arm and shrugged, then pried the cap from the flask, drained it, and crushed it with her grip.

“Better,” she smirked back at me. “Much better.”

Fifteen cycles.

We had been holed up in this spire, barring a few occasional forays for supplies, for fifteen solar cycles. For better than half of that Alessandra had been laid up, resting and recovering from the damage her body had taken prior to our meeting. Only in the past few days had she begun to get significantly stronger.

In point of fact, I was surprised at just how rapidly she recovered. Admittedly, my experience with humans was mostly confined to quickly I could kill them, not nurse them back to health, and slaves in Commorragh were rarely in the best of health, but Alessandra…

Her bruises faded like water off of a stone, and her cuts healed leaving only the faintest of scars. The damage to her arm should was bad enough that I was concerned about her long term capabilities without the attention of real medical treatment.

“I’ve always recovered faster than most,” Alessandra said as she tossed the flask in a disposal. “Even as a Progena I had a lot of stamina, it’s one of the reasons I was always at the head of my classes.”

“Simply taking less time to recover than most would give you an edge,” I agreed slowly, and Alessandra gave me a level look as I met her gaze.

“We’ve discussed this, ‘Rae, I’m not a psyker,” she said pointedly. “The Drill Abbots even suspected I might be a latent bio-talent, but all the tests came back negative.”

“So you’re just hardy?”

Alessandra shrugged. “I never knew my parents… I might come from death world stock or a high-grav world. Greater stamina and recovery isn’t impossible, the God-Emperor blesses each of us in accordance to our needs.”

“Perhaps,” I allowed in what was becoming my traditional response.

“I’m getting faster, though,” she smirked at me as she collapsed onto the couch. “Or you’re getting slower, I nearly hit you that bout.”

“Nearly,” I drawled, masking my discomfort by a smile as I took a drink of water for myself.

Her comment set my hackles up, and I hoped it was only in jest. It probably was, given her lack of gravity and concern but still…

I was getting slower.

Only by the narrowest of marks, so narrow that only I could possibly be noticing it, but I could feel it nonetheless.

Her strikes were growing closer every day, if only by the width of a blade’s edge, and that wasn’t to say she was not improving but no one improves that quickly against a Wych of my experience. Besides, it wasn’t just her speed… I could feel the chill biting a little deeper every day, and my limbs took breathes longer every morning to warm up.

The Great Serpent had gotten a taste of my soul back in the chapel, and now my long, unnatural lifespan was ebbing and taking my vitality with it.

“You learn more quickly than I would expect from one of your kind,” I conceded.

“My _kind _adapt,” Alessandra replied with a playful tension. “All the galaxy is our rightful dominion, and by the grace of Him On Earth, and the holy technologies of the Techpriests, we are made capable of living anywhere within it.”__

____

____

“Of course,” I made a deep, mocking bow, “how could I forget?”

Alessandra laughed, and I smiled as I straightened and moved to her side. Her laughter was one of my favorite sounds, it was full and it came from her chest, and the way it filled her face was…

Well, I considered myself surprisingly fortunate that I had met her at the end of my life.

I sat beside her and she moved closer, meshing herself against me and pulling her feet up onto the couch as she rested her head on my shoulder and I looped my arm around her waist.

We had not spoken about the events of the chapel. Not about my drinking from her, or about the kiss, or about what had followed or preceded it. We had, however, silently grown more comfortable being in physical contact than not.

“Isarae?” Alessandra began softly.

“Hm?”

“How… old are you?”

I chuckled at that. “Truthfully, I am uncertain,” I admitted. “Biologically I am in the prime of my life,” or I was, at least, “but chronologically is a different matter… by your reckoning I suppose I am close to six thousand of your standard years.”

Alessandra stiffened noticeably under my arm, and I laughed again.

“Aeldari lifespans are highly variable, and the Druchii don’t age at all so long as they slake their Thirst,” I explained. “Now, perhaps, you can understand why life has grown so wearisome for me.”

“That’s…” Alessandra relaxed again under my touch and nestled a little closer to me. “Where were you born?”

“The sewers of Commorragh, I think, that was where I spent my first century at any rate,” I chewed my lip as I tried to recall. It had been a very long time ago. “I was a slave for many centuries after that, first for pleasure, then for combat.”

My early years were a blur of narcotics and violence, and I tried to pin down the major events as they occurred with only passing success.

“You were… born in the sewers,” Alessandra repeated, horror growing in her voice, “and then used as a whore and a gladiator?”

“Sometimes both at once,” I added with a smile that drew a sharp look from her.

“You forget that I do not necessarily disagree with your God-Emperor concerning my race’s extermination,” I pointed out. “I have no love of the Druchii, perhaps even less than your own kind considering how well I know them.”

Alessandra sighed quietly, but moved even closer than before. The scent of her sweat was strong about her, but I did not mind. 

Shamefully, I rather liked it.

“Do you have any family?” She asked after another moment.

I shook my head.

“I suppose we’re the same in that, at least,” Alessandra remarked in wan humor.

She sighed and relaxed more comfortably against me, and I let myself enjoy the way she conformed herself to me. Alessandra didn’t precisely melt against me, but her solid warmth was pleasantly soft and reassuring, and we sat together in companionable silence as the cycle ticked away, occasionally one would shift against the other as if to remind them of their presence.

As if I could forget.

Physical affection was an odd concept for me, given my usual interactions with physicality, but Alessandra was always content to simply lay against me with her head resting in the hollow of my shoulder.

Well, that and-

The soft press of lips brushed against the skin where my neck and shoulder joined. It was slow and sweet, and followed quickly by another kiss just above the first, and then another, and another, slowly trailing up my neck until they reached my jawline and diverged, rising up as Alessandra’s hand crept up to cradle against the other side of my neck.

And as always, she faltered just shy of my earlobe. Her breath hitched, and she leaned in to pressed her forehead into the hollow of my neck as she shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered quietly.

“You always apologise,” I said as I raised my hand to rest on the back of her hand, stroking her hair slowly in calming motions. “I’ve never complained.”

“I shouldn’t be doing that,” Alessandra’s voice was tight, and her aura tasted of righteous shame. “I am… I can’t do that.”

“Do you want me to stop you next time?”

I felt her tense, and I silently chided myself for saying ‘next time’ as if her promise to herself meant nothing, as if I was simply assuming that she wouldn’t be able to keep to her word. Of course, we both knew there _would _be a next time, but saying it aloud so brazenly had stung her pride.__

____

____

“I want _me _to stop me,” Alessandra said finally, and I felt her force herself to relax.__

____

____

“I can help,” I offered, but she shook her head.

“Thank you, ‘Rae,” she raised her head and leaned in to press a kiss to my cheek. “But it means nothing if I can’t do it myself.”

“Why does it matter?” I asked. I honestly wouldn’t have cared so much if it wasn’t clearly a source of pain for Alessandra, but as it was… “You feel how you feel, yes?”

“And what I feel is _temptation! _” Alessandra snapped as she pulled away from me, her eyes blazing. “What I feel is the precipice of _heresy! _”____

_____ _

_____ _

With a surge of motion she was astride me, straddling my lap with her powerful legs on either side of me while she stared down into my eyes with a burning expression of want and desire that lit a flame somewhere deep in my belly.

My hands trailed up to rest on her hips as her own hands rose to start tracing the lines of my face with her fingers.

“What I _want _is a sin beyond measure,” Alessandra breathed raggedly. “And what I want will take me out of the God-Emperor’s light and into a shadow where I… I do not know if there is a possibility of return.”__

____

____

Her fingers tangled into my hair, taking a hard grip and sending ripples of pleasure through me, and pulled my head gently to the side as she could lean in against the bare skin of my neck again and take a deep, slow breath.

“I don’t know… if I would _want _to return,” she admitted, and her voice was tight and raw as she pressed another kiss to my neck. “I’m sorry…” another kiss, a little higher, “I’m sorry,” and another.__

____

____

“I’m sorry.”

She dismounted from me, her face ruddy and warm, and her eyes downcast.

“I’m going to take a bath and…” she paused, wrapping her arms around herself, “and I need you to not follow me.”

I eyed her carefully for a few moments, then nodded.

“As you say, Alessa,” I replied quietly.

* * *

Another ten cycles passed and our days were filled with much of the same. We would spar and Alessandra would continue to slowly overtake me, then we would rest together, staying close, occasionally with our hands finding one another to link together while Alessandra pretended not to notice.

Some cycles I would go seeking supplies, on others Alessandra would explore the spire. She would never put the armour on we had taken from the chapel despite having long since attached the power cell of her old armour to it. It was perfectly usable, and despite that she refused to don it, always telling me there was nothing worth lugging around another two bodies of weight for in the spire and if there was that she was better off just avoiding it.

Instead she would pull on the bodyglove, take one of my Splinter pistols that I’d been training her with in between sparring, and wander about. Occasionally she would return with food or more medical supplies, despite us having more than enough, other times with oddments and knick knacks like children’s toys.

I never asked her about them.

Our days were a strange kind of peaceful punctuated by the background noise of a war. No one knew where we were, neither Orks nor Imperials, nor the elusive Asuryani I suspected had come through the Webway.

If it weren’t for my slow recession into weakness, I would think that… that maybe this could last.

Or something like it.

But no, it couldn’t last because that was not my fate. I was born with a blade at my throat and a knife slowly sliding between my ribs towards my heart. That it moved at the speed of a glacier was meaningless because I could no more remove it than I could reignite the golden age of the Aeldari Empire.

One day it would kill me, and today was the day I became certain that it would be soon.

Why?

Because I slept in.

I woke a full hour after I normally would and my body ached like nothing I’d ever known. Despite sleeping in, I was still weary, my limbs felt leaden, and my one consolation was that Alessendra didn’t know about it because she was still asleep in my arms the way she had been last night.

The way she had done for the past twenty or so cycles.

A temptation, I’m sure she would say, but also a practicality because the last time she had gone to sleep alone she had woken up screaming. Even after that, when I offered to stay with her during the night, she had tried to turn me down despite clearly wanting to say yes.

She had only agreed after I pointed out that her waking up screaming every morning would almost inevitably draw down an Ork squad or more, although…

Alessandra's arguments died with what I’m sure would be considered indecent haste by most.

I gathered her a little more closely in my arms, relishing her warmth. It was not often I was cold, but it was growing more common lately as my body began to weaken.

“Alessa,” her name fell softly from my lips as I stared down at her sleeping features.

She was so phenomenally beautiful.

It was a thought I had not permitted myself until now, but granting that I was near the end of my obscenely long life I had opted to dispose of that compunction.

Alessandra was _beautiful. ___

____

____

I brushed my lips over her cheek, inhaling the warm scent of her.

“ _Your smile shines such to shame Isha, and your voice is the laughter of Lileath. _”__

____

____

“Hm? I don’t speak Aeldari, ‘Rae,” Alessandra mumbled sleepily. “What was that?”

“Nothing, Alessa,” I ran my fingers through her lovely, pale hair. “Go back to sleep.”

She gave a vaguely affirmative grunt and buried her face against my shoulder, a touch of drool leaking from the corner of her mouth as she wrapped her arms around my torso.

Distant detonations echoed beyond the walls, a reminder of the ongoing conflict. I was becoming too sedentary as well… I could feel it, even aside from my fading vitality, I had been indulging this domesticity with Alessandra for near on a full lunar cycle.

That I had enjoyed it was aside from the point.

I sighed as Alessandra murmured small, sleeping noises against me. I had a choice now… I was near enough to my death that any battle I fought would be a risk, but if I dallied longer there wouldn’t be a point to seeking a battle at all.

So did I die in battle? Did I rove out in search of my end at the edge of an Imperial blade or Ork axe?

Or did I remain, and pass quietly with Alessa, my Alessa, by my side?

Would it be crueler or kinder to leave her behind? Should I make her watch me die breath by breath? She would agonise over it either way.

This matter with Alessandra had happened so quickly, at least by my standards, and it left me reeling. By the standards of an Aeldari, who measures their lives in the span of centuries, this short and sudden intensity that had cropped up between her and I was alarming.

Aeldari, as a people, do not like change, and they certainly detested when it happened quickly, but in our defense the last time a very quick change had occurred our entire empire had dissolved into shrieking chaos and each of our souls, present and future, had been ear-marked for the larder of a cosmic nightmare.

Not that we hadn’t earned it all, but the point stands.

Alessandra nuzzled against me in her sleep, making a quiet murr of approval as she fell deeper into slumber.

As changes go, this one was not so terrible. Still, it was ironic that here and now, at the end of my life, I should find myself wishing for just a little bit longer to spend with her.

How many more cycles did I have?

Twenty?

Twenty-five at the outside?

It was happening more quickly now… I knew that much. Every passing cycle brought the angle of my descent into the Great Serpent’s maw another degree steeper, and the downward slide had become uncomfortably rushed.

Sighing, I slipped out of bed, untangling myself from Alessandra who made half-sleeping sounds of protest before curling up in the warm spot I left behind, while I stretched, wincing at the cold throb that settled into my muscles.

I glanced down at the still-sleeping Alessandra, at her lips as she drew in her slumbering breaths, and felt an altogether different ache… an echo of thirst.

I could have a little longer. I could stave off the inevitability of death for an extra fistful of cycles, maybe a little more… all I had to do was drink from Alessandra again. All I had to do was take in another mouthful of that liquid sunlight that was her soul to bring back the edge of my vitality.

No.

The Thirst was not something I could afford to indulge again. I had given in once and by some miracle, as Alessandra named it, there had been no ill effects but that… that was an impossibility that I was willing to accept once and only once. I was not so arrogant as to test fate a second time and drink from Alessandra again in the expectation of another miracle.

It had happened once, and that had been a gift, I was not going to repeat the mistakes of my kind and continue to take and take and take until there was no more left to give.

Not from Alessandra.

_Never _from Alessandra.__

____

____

I shivered again before making my way out of the bedroom, picking up a robe on the way out and tugging it on before nosing around for some breakfast.

I activated the burner of the stovetop in the small kitchen, laid down a flat iron pan, and drew out a few handfuls of something Alessandra had called ‘Nara Eggs’. Apparently they were a common breakfast food originating from one of the pastoral Agriworlds in the subsector, and she had been incredibly pleased to have found a stock of them in a cooling unit that still had power a few levels up.

They cooked quickly and easily, and had a slightly savory flavor to them that I quite enjoyed, and I had almost finished plating them out when a pair of arms slid around my waist and the familiar weight of Alessandra’s chin settled on my shoulder.

“Good morning, ‘Rae.”

I forced myself not to jerk or tense, and instead just turned to lean my head against hers, hoping that it was enough of a reaction that she wouldn’t realise that she had actually snuck up on me.

My senses were dulling badly.

“Alessa,” I replied by way of greeting, lifting up a plate of Nara to her which she happily took, and admired her as she turned to sit at the table.

She was wearing a gray robe much like mine, although she had chosen one that only reached the middle of her thighs, and I suspected it belonged to the small, waifish woman who lived here. I also suspected that Alessandra had taken to wearing it because she knew that I liked looking at her legs, but I did not have any proof of that.

The kitchen was filled with the quiet clinking of utensils on plates as we tucked into our breakfast.

“Plans today?” She asked between bites.

I chewed my lip for a moment, then glanced over my combat gear and nodded.

“Something like that.”

“Sparring again?” Alessandra asked with a smile as she polished off her nara and set the plate in the basin to be washed later. “I’ve almost caught you.”

“Believe what you will, Alessa,” I replied with a smirk, although she was right. “As to sparring? No…” I joined my plate with hers before walking over to my gear, taking up my beloved razorflail, currently contracted into its blade form, and turning back to Alessa. “Today, you learn to use this.”

Alessandra’s eyes widened.

In all this time, I’d never permitted her to touch my flail. I’d taught her to use my Splinter pistols, Hellebore and Rue, and she had caught on with fair speed although she was still a little heavy on the trigger. My flail, however, had never been on the table before and Alessandra tentatively reached out to lay hand on the handle.

“The grip is made up of Kymaera bone and has a bioreactive mesh linked to an organic metal tendon inside the mechanism,” I explained as she took a grip on it. “You run your thumb along this,” I took her hand and passed her thumb over a portion of the mesh gently, “to release the tension of the monowire that links the segments.”

“Is this like your pistols?” Alessa asked as she tested the weight, heft, and balance of the blade-form of the flail. “Minimal pressure, and don’t squeeze?”

“The theory is similar,” I agreed as I took a step back to give her room for some practice swings. “The real test of using a razorflail is rotating between its forms, to contract and expand, reach and withdraw… the force and pressure you use on the mesh translates into the flail a thousandfold.”

I held out my hand for the flail and she passed it back to me.

Holding up the weapon, I let her see how my hand rested, then I gently twitched my thumb across the mesh. The flail rattled quietly as it snapped loose and hung to its full length coiled on the floor. I repeated the process in opposite and it retreated back into blade-form.

“Now watch what happens when I release it with more force,” I nodded to the handle, and Alessandra watched carefully as I ground my thumb more forcefully against the mesh.

The razorflail snapped out with a metallic snarl and the length of it launched across the room to bury itself in the far wall.

Alessandra’s eyebrows edged up to her pale fringe as she looked from the haft, down the length of wire-connected blade segments, to the hooked tip that was piercing the metal hab walls, and let out a low whistle.

“In time, you will master how to get just the amount of force out of the release mechanism that you want and need, and no more,” I pulled the weapon free and drew it back in, then set the flail aside. “For now, I will teach you the opening forms and how to move without cutting your own arms off.”

Her eyes seemed to almost glow with poorly restrained excitement.

“Well?”

I chuckled softly, then nodded.

“Very well, _Cre’yth, _” I crossed the distance and laid my hands on her shoulders to start moving her. “The first form is the _Ao’lanya, _and it goes like this…”____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	20. Passes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessandra makes choices.

It’s strange, what you can get used to.

I ran my hands over the smooth ceramite of the artificer armour we had rescued from the chapel five cycles ago. My thoughts were full of distraction lately, and my injuries meant that I couldn’t simply practice forms until I was exhausted enough to fall asleep, so instead I worked on the armour.

While it didn’t need to be polished, I still spoke each of the litanies over it as I ran a soft cloth across the ceramite, ensuring every inch of it was clean while I tried to keep myself from thinking about the quiet.

The whole of the quarters were quiet and I did not like it one bit.

When it was quiet, my mind would get loud, and when it got loud it would tend to get… bad. 

Memories would flood in, memories of my sisters… of the disastrous landing… of running pell-mell through the bombed-out nightmare of Amphitria while staying awake for cycles on end.

“Emperor on Earth, bless this holy wargear,” I muttered quietly as I ran the cloth over the left pauldron with my good hand. My left arm was healing, but slowly. “May the noble spirit who slumbers within be hale in the face of danger, for the foes are many, the threats eternal, yet through it all… the Emperor protects.”

I lowered the cloth and bit my lip as I recalled the sisters of the shrine I’d taken the armour from.

“The Emperor… protects,” I repeated shakily.

My mind was racing. I needed something to distract myself further, and Isarae wouldn’t be back for hours.

Fortunately I still had a task I could do, and hopefully one that would take up the majority of my time until she was back.

I crossed the quarters to where my own power armour was laid out. It was badly damaged, but the machine spirit still doggedly persisted with its duty in spite of its wounds.

Kneeling before the cuirass, I turned it over carefully and began muttering the rites of slumber, coaxing the machine spirit to sleep with every disconnected subsystem. I was grateful to the poor thing, it had kept me safe and alive throughout my ordeal in Amphitria, and I dearly hoped I could return it to the armories of the Convent Arborea safely. It deserved a thorough round of cleansing and repairs for its diligence, but for now I could only grant it reprieve.

With the last system put to rest, I released the final locks and seals on the suit’s main reactor, opened the alcove, and drew out the power cell.

It was faintly warm and hummed with the blessings of the Emperor in his aspect as the Machine God.

The cell was said to contain the caged fires of a star, and the notion that this was our work, the work in mankind, was yet more proof of my faith in my mind.

Cradling the cell with care, I carried it back to the chapel armour and set it down.

“Oh ancient spirit, blessed be thy slumber,” I intoned as I released the alcove seals on the back of the armour. “This daughter of the Emperor implores thee awaken, for thy duty is not discharged.”

With the power alcove prepared, I took up the cell and carefully set it into place before sliding it into the junction.

“This beating heart I give to thee,” I continued, “this fire to wake thee from thy rest.”

The cell clicked as it linked into the armour, and the first lights began to flicker sullenly awake along the main systems.

“Wake now, oh Spirit, thy might is needed for the Enemy tests us once again,” I began pressing the runes of activation in the ritual combinations. “Thou art faithful, thou art true, and the blessings of the Omnissiah who is the God-Emperor be upon thee.”

The armour hummed dutifully to life as I completed the rite of awakening, and its various systems reported a series of healthy green lights as the noble old spirit roused itself, no less vital and battle-ready now than it ever was. I ran my hand over the warming systems and smiled, listening to the spirit click and chirp.

I was no techpriest, so I couldn’t understand what it was saying, but the lively chatter of the spirit made me smile nonetheless. This machine spirit had served the Adeptus Sororitas for centuries, maybe even millennia, and being in its presence gave me comfort. I took reassurance from the idea that even as we Sisters of Battle fell as martyrs in His name our wargear could be taken up again by the next generation to be carried to holy war, and with it some part of us was carried in the memory of the machine spirits.

“Good morning,” I said with a small laugh as the armour finally settled into a pleasant beat of its fiery core.

A faint wash and crackle of static struck my ears a moment later, and I frowned. I thought I could hear…

My eyes widened as I stepped around to the front of the suit and reached into the gorget. 

The primary comlink was active.

It was a call set to autocycle on a Sororitas priority vox channel giving coordinates for rendezvous for any Sisters of Battle who yet lived, and instructing them to try and reach the Priory of Gardens at the northern edge of Amphitria.

My heart soared as I realised that not all of my sisters had been slain in the initial landing. My squad may have fallen but the proof that not all of the landings had not gone so poorly buoyed my spirits considerably.

From the sounds of it, enough of them had landed in support of the Guard to secure the Priory itself, otherwise the autocycle would contain a coded warning.

As the cycle continued, my heart started to sink.

Not only were they secure… the cycle offered extraction to any isolated Sisters, meaning at least one of our landing crafts had survived.

They would lock on to any locator signum and-

“Frak!” 

I cursed as I lunged for the armour, pulled at the gorget, and found the vox system. Sure enough, the signum was getting ready to transmit, and without thinking I reached out and flicked it off, then breathed a sigh of relief.

If that had gone off my Sisters would have known where I was and-

My heart fell.

-and… why did I do that?

The locator signum would have told my Sisters my exact location. I could be extracted and returned to the embrace of my Order in under two hours standard if they mobilised quickly enough, maybe even less if a crew was close by.

All I had to do was turn the locator back on and…

Isarae.

I turned away from the armour to stare at the door to the quarters.

She wouldn’t be back for several hours. If I called my sisters down now they could retrieve me and no one would be the wiser. Isarae had taken the jetbike and her gear, so there were no signs anywhere that an Eldar had been here with me. I could turn it on, and go back to my Order and my Sisters.

I could go back to my life.

And Isarae would go to her death.

If I left now, Isarae would come back to an empty… what? An empty home? This wasn’t our home, this was someone else’s home that we were squatting in.

And yet, the past few days it had begun to _feel _like a home.__

____

____

At least, it felt a little like what I used to imagine a home might feel like.

Either way, it would be empty, and Isarae would realise I had left her, and then she would leave too, and go find the thing she had come to this world for.

I didn’t want Isarae to die, that much I knew. I had a variety of reasons for it, one of the strongest of which was simply that I owed her my life many times over. I had long since stopped trying to find ulterior motives in her actions, and come to accept that the Eldar woman simply wanted to keep me alive because… because she liked me.

Because we were… allies?

We were more than just allies, far more, or at the very least she meant more than that to me, and I wanted to believe I was more than that to her.

The words Isarae spoke as we returned from the chapel came back to me as I listened to the comlink autocycle again.

_For you, Alessandra, I would do anything. ___

____

__

“Anything…” I muttered softly.

I reached inside the suit, found the vox unit, detached the power feed, and the autocycling message went silent.

When Isarae eventually returned some four and a half hours later, I was back to cleaning my bolter. It was already spotless and oiled, but there was no reason to take a risk.

“Welcome back,” I smiled up at her, and her lips twitched up faintly as she nodded and dropped her satchel to the ground.

She began unloading the supplies, mostly food and medical again.

“I found you something,” Isarae paused her unloading to shift a few things around in the bag.

She lifted up a small box and held it out to me. I raised my eyebrow at the smooth metal case, then took it, cracked it open, and my jaw dropped.

“I found it in a high spire,” Isarae explained as she went back to unloading. “It matched the mark on your cheek, so I thought you might like it.”

“That’s a _fleur de lis, _” I said softly, drawing out the jeweled hairpin from the velvet interior. “It’s the mark of my Order as a whole, the sign the Adeptus Sororitas.”__

____

____

“A holy symbol?” She asked, her eyebrows raised as she looked up at me.

I nodded.

A symbol of my faith.

I wondered if this was fate or something else. If this was a silent reminder from His Divine Majesty of my duties, or an odd, tacit approval of my choice.

Was I here for a reason? Or was this time spent with Isarae the dereliction of my duty.

A hand pressed down over the pin, and I looked up to see Isarae kneeling beside me, her long, graceful fingers plucking the pin from my hand. Before I could ask what she was doing she wove her fingers into my hair, tucked a lock behind my ear, and pinned it into place with the fleur de lis.

“There,” Isarae smiled and brushed her knuckles lightly over my cheek, “that looks good on you.”

Her smile locked me in place for the moment it took her to admire me before she stood, pressed to my forehead for a heartaching instant, then turned to return to sorting her finds.

“Once you are well enough, we should start sparring,” Isarae said as she sifted through the supplies. “It will help strengthen your limbs after your recovery.”

“I suppose it will,” I muttered, my fingers coming up to rest on the hairpin for a moment, and I smiled as I looked up at her. “Will you teach me to move like you do?” 

“If it is possible, certainly,” Isarae smirked over her shoulder at me, and my heart skipped.

I wasn’t sure if I should regret deactivating the signum, all I knew was that I didn’t.

* * *

“Do not just yank on the trigger,” Isarae admonished as another wild spray of splinter fire struck the makeshift target. “Splinter weapons are not explosives.”

“I’m trying,” I grumbled as I held the weapon in a loose grip and took aim again. “I barely even touched the trigger!”

“That bodes poorly,” she replied dryly as she circled me with a critical look on her face. 

Hellebore was the name of her splinter pistol which, along with its sister pistol Rue, made up Isarae’s only ranged weaponry. It had taken me seven cycles to grow bored enough to beg her for lessons, and she had agreed happily. Rather than attempt it in the quarters we’d taken for ourselves, we moved one level up to a slightly more weather-worn set of rooms and set up a series of reconstituted falsewood slats as targets.

“Your weapons are crude things with too much wasted energy bleeding through them every time they are fired,” Isarae commented blithely. “Splinter weaponry has no kick, no wasted energy, and so requires only the deftest and lightest of touches.”

I froze as Isarae slipped up behind me and matched brought her arms around to line up with mine and, keeping or positions aligned, took Hellebore and aimed.

“Watch,” her voice was a warm ripple against my ear.

The target sprouted a half-dozen new slivers of damage, and as far as I could tell she hadn’t even twitched her finger.

“How did you-?”

“Don’t watch my hand, Alessa,” Isarae instructed, “look lower… follow the wrist down and watch the tendons…”

I forced myself to keep my eyes fixed firmly on her wrist, and an instant later I saw the barest twitch of muscle beneath her pale skin followed by another several slivers hammering into target.

“The slightest pressure will engage the ammunition feed,” Isarae spoke quietly as she took my hand and settled it back on the grip. “The magnetic feeds capture the slivers as they’re sheared off inside the loading chamber and propel them out at nearly hypersonic speeds”

Taking a deep, slow breath, I focused on what Isarae had done. I flexed the muscles, first in my bicep, then up to my forearm, carefully controlling then pressure, and feeling the building tension in my arm being pushed up along my muscles until-

I nearly jumped as a handful of slivers impacted the target in almost the exact manner they had when Isarae had been firing the pistol, and I felt a surge of triumph!

“Ha!” I turned, grinning, to Isarae. “Did you see?! I…!”

She was smiling at me.

Isarae was looking down at me with with a gleam in her eyes and a wide, brimming grin, and… pride.

“Good,” she nodded, patting my shoulder. “Now just learn to do that on command and we might make a markswoman out of you yet.”

* * *

Ten Cycles.

My world is a roil of flying fists and onrushing motion. Isarae is unbelievably fast, and I can barely keep myself from being struck by glancing blows as we spar across the center of our quarters.

Her style is like nothing Imperial.

She moved like liquid fire, consuming the space in front of her and spreading to everything adjacent. In one moment she was several steps away from me, and the next she was inside my guard, knocking my elbows aside, breaking my stance, cutting my roots, and then I’m on the floor.

“Faster, _Cre’yth, _” Isarae shot me a smirk as she held out a hand. “We will make you faster yet.”__

____

____

I staggered as I got to my feet, and Isarae frowned.

“You’re only barely recovered,” she admonished gently, getting her arms around me and pulling me towards a seat.

“I’m fine,” I waved my hand dismissively. “I’ve just been idle for too long, I’m winded, which is galling but not the end of the galaxy.”

“Move at a steady pace, Alessa,” Isarae brushed my sweat-matted hair from my face, and smiled again. “We’ll have you better than before quite soon, I think.”

Her touch was more comforting than her words, although I wasn’t certain how to admit that, or if I even should.

I was certain she knew, of course. How could she not, given how we spend our nights? I can hardly sleep without having her nearby anymore, and the feeling of those long, graceful arms holding on to me have quickly become a necessity.

Without them, the nightmares would always return.

The blood and death… the empty, dead gazes of my sisters… the stench of scorching flesh and a city aflame.

All of that is chased away by the cold-smoke scent of Isarae.

Her arm continued to lend me support as she walked me into the washroom and began running the bath. We’d mastered the trick of turning off the scented oils a few cycles ago, so it was far more tolerable now.

“Your arm is nearly healed,” Isarae remarked as she helped lower me to the edge of the bath.

My limbs were trembling with exertion, the muscles still slightly atrophic from trauma, disuse, and the strain of recovery.

“I thank the God-Emperor for that,” I replied, breathing heavily as the heated bath finished filling. “I’d rather not be forced to use an augmetic so early in my career.”

“Mm,” Isarae chuckled as she sat on the stone floor behind me and began lathering my hair. “We’re he still alive I’d suggest you see my Haemonuculus… I’m sure there are a few spare arms lying around his laboratory that you could use.”

“I’m not certain if you’re joking,” I gave her a level look, and the enigmatic smile she replied with didn’t clear matters up.

“The muscle grafts wouldn’t even be noticeable,” she continued casually as she began massaging the into my hair and scalp. “And I highly recommend the stimgland… sleeping isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I mind it less lately,” I said softly, then bit my lip as I remembered how good Isarae’s hearing was.

Her deft hands paused in their motions for a moment before continuing, but she didn’t reply.

“Sorry,” I said, after a moment.

“Don’t be,” she answered before withdrawing her hands, tapping my shoulder to let me know she was done, and then rinsing them off.

I ducked my head beneath the surface, relishing the heat as I let the churning water sluice away the sweat from my hair before rising.

Isarae has slipped into the water herself finally, although I doubt she had actually broken a sweat, and I turned so she could finish rinsing my hair for me.

To be honest, I didn’t really even need Isarae’s help for this anymore, my arms were tired, not useless. Still, over the past several cycles we had become more and more comfortable with one another, and she had started washing my hair for me while my arm was recovering.

For one reason or other, I’d never asked her to stop, and Isarae had never seemed to want to. Whatever her own reasons, the Eldar woman seemed to enjoy looking after me like this, and I had to admit I enjoyed her doting on me.

I think the reason I liked it was because, with Isarae, it never felt patronising. She kicked my arse up and down the quarters while sparring, never went easy on me, and never let up until we were finished. Then she would take extra care to ensure I was well and safe, and she would look after me.

It was nice.

Isarae’s arm slipped around my waist beneath the water, and I let out a small hum of approval as she drew me closer. I let her, as I always did… her touch was never unwelcome, and I turned my head to nestle against the crook of her neck.

“You are an odd one, Alessa,” Isarae notes with a small laugh.

Alessa.

I wasn’t sure when she’d started calling me that, I hadn’t thought of it honestly, just as I couldn’t pin down when I’d started getting familiar enough with her to call her ‘Rae. Neither of us had ever commented on it, nor complained, we had simply fallen into it like a comfortable routine.

“Says the Dark Eldar who just finished washing my hair for me,” I prodded back, and Isarae smirked.

The heat was comfortable, and Isarae was more so, and I drew myself closer until I was pressed fully against her, my face practically buried against her neck.

That was when the urge struck me.

It was so sudden and so total that I had even considered it before I’d indulged it.

I kissed Isarae’s neck.

For some reason I expected her to admonish me, or reprimand me, but she didn’t. She just stiffened for a moment at the touch, then relaxed.

Saints knew I shouldn’t do it again. I really, really ought not to… this was a Dark Eldar, whatever our familiarity, whatever our strange relationship this was certainly taking it too far.

Memories of the kiss in the chapel still haunted me, though. The feeling of Isarae’s mouth on me was…

Shuddering silently, I leaned in and kissed her neck again.

And again.

And again.

Each time rising higher, with my hand cradling her neck where I could feel her pulse quickening.

I stopped just beneath her long, tapered ear. A physical reminder that I was indulging this urge with a being who was very clearly inhuman.

_Heresy. ___

____

____

The thought splintered through my mind and I drew back, drawing in a ragged breath before leaning forward and resting my forehead against Isarae’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, my voice raw. “I… I’m not sure what came over me.”

Isarae just shook her head, and I noted the faintest redness of her cheeks as she drew her arms around me and pulled me tight against her.

She didn’t speak, she didn’t even move. She just held me there with an almost desperate strength, her long fingers trailing woven into my hair as she buried her face against the crown of my head.

Through it all I could hear her heartbeat, faint and deafening at the same time.

The notion that one day it might go silent sent a shockwave of sorrow through me, and suddenly my arms were around Isarae as well, hugging her as tightly as I could.

Isarae… my Isarae.

God-Emperor forgive me.

* * *

“ _Ao’lanya! _”__

____

____

I spun through the myriad motions of the first form, stepping through the complex footwork patterns as I cut and slashed with the razorflail in its blade-form.

“ _Beith’ha! _”__

____

____

My thumb lightly against the mesh of the hand as I completed the first form and moved into the second, lashing my arm out in a circular, weaving arc. The segmented blade separated with a quiet snap and spiraled around me.

“ _Mar’Saim! _”__

____

____

I turned the force of my motion into a leap, the razorflail hissed viperously around me and for a moment I was surrounded by slicing metal.

Then I leaned into the motion, and at the same moment retracted the blades with another flick of my thumb, just hard enough to pull the blades back swiftly, but not so hard as to close them around me like a razor-edged vice as I had seen Isarae do so many times. 

My feet struck the ground as I bled my momentum out with a powerful slash of the blade. The moment it reached the zenith of its arc I snapped the tendril out again, releasing the blades once more in a flurry of arching, biting strokes that ripped through the wall before me.

“Enough!” Isarae called, and I snapped back into the first form, opening stance, and retracted the segments to their blade form.

“I did it!” I breathed, my lungs tight with exertion as I took a seat where I landed and took gulps of air.

The human body was not meant to move like that but, as I had told Isarae, we are an adaptable species above all. Still, moving seamlessly through three full Lacerai forms had taxed me, and the knowledge that Isarae could perform all seventeen without missing a single step was mind-boggling.

“You need not even move that fast unless you are fighting another of my kind, I think,” Isarae noted as she took a seat beside me. I’m not sure why but I felt like she seemed paler than usual. “To your species, you would seem like a blur of bladed death.”

“And yet I’m still nowhere near you,” I pointed out.

There was an odd look of sadness that passed across her face briefly before she smiled and shook her head.

“You are human, Alessa,” she replied with a small chuckle. “Your biology is not entirely supportive of these forms and movements.”

“I don’t think we seem that different,” I shot back, looking her up and down and poorly masking it my enjoyment of it. “You’re only a bit taller and narrower than I am.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Isarae held out her bare arms and turned them, flexing as she did. “The muscles and tendons are seated differently on an Aeldari frame.”

As she turned her body, I began to see what she meant, and I wondered if that was a part of the subtle wrongness that humans felt upon seeing an Eldar. They were so very alike to us in shape, but we’re subtly different enough that it left us with an impression of physiognomic discomfort.

“The bones are set differently too,” she continued. “And our reactions times are drastically different.”

“I suppose I see what you mean,” I reached out and ran my hand over the form muscle of where a bicep would be on a human.

Then I trailed further down until our hands met, and our fingers linked.

We both stared at our joined hands for a long while before Isarae finally shook her head and chuckled wanly.

“How much longer can we do this, _Cre’yth? _”__

____

____

I frowned.

“Do what?”

“This!” Isarae gestured around us. “You must eventually return to your Order, yes?”

That drew my frown to a deeper scowl. “Y-Yes, but until I know where they are it’s a pointless proposition!”

A lie.

I knew where they were.

“We could locate them,” Isarae offered, “you have a war to prosecute, do you not? And you have recovered more than enough to fight it!”

“Well, yes but-!”

“Do you intend to forsake your Order, then?”

I froze.

Isarae’s words sliced through the thin skin of my arguments and justifications to the one question I had been steadfastly avoiding.

How long could I reason my delay? How long until my conscience could no longer bear the weight of standing aside while they fought and died to protect the sacred shrine at the heart of the Priory of Gardens?

“Thirty cycles, Alessa,” Isarae said stonily. “It’s been thirty cycles since we holed up here, and I have not only brought you back to health but made you stronger.”

“I know!” I snapped. “You think I’m not aware of that?! You think I don’t care that my Sisters are dying while I sit safely in this hovel?!”

“Then why do you delay?!”

“Because knowing you’ll die is just as bad!” I snarled the words out, and Isarae jerked back. “The moment I leave you’ll go out there and you’ll-”

The rest of the thought died on my tongue. I couldn’t say it… the notion of it was too painful, so I just gripped Isarae’s hand all the harder.

“I will die all the same, Alessa,” Isarae stood, drawing her hand back from me and taking her razorflail back from me and securing it to her waist. “Wait for me… I will find your Sisters.”

“Why?” I hated how small my voice came out. “Why now?”

Isarae sighed softly.

“There is a storm front encroaching, and a large one,” she replied. “If we do not move now, it may be better than a week before we can try again, maybe longer.”

“Can’t we wait for the week?” My words came out petulant, and I grimaced. “Never mind… do what you will, Isarae.”

I felt more than saw her flinch at my use of her full name, and at the hard bite in my voice.

“I only do what I must,” Isarae responded in a sorrowful tone. “I do this because you are precious to me, Alessa.”

Then she was gone.

Isarae vanished into the shadows, with not even her footsteps leaving echoes. I remained where I was for some time before finally forcing myself to stand and trudge back down to the quarters we shared.

The jetbike was gone and with it my hope that Isarae might have had second thoughts and waited for me.

The gleam of the chapel armour caught my eye, and I made my way over to it. It was clean and polished, just the way I left it, and I considered the import of Isarae’s question.

Was I willing to forsake my Order?

My Sisters?

For an Eldar?

I hated that I couldn’t answer that question immediately, even in my own mind. What I did know was that I owed Isarae the truth.

That I had known all along where my sisters were.

That I had chosen to remain with her over them for all this time.

Then I would beg her to come back with me, to be sanctioned… perhaps we could even be… 

I sighed.

No, that might be asking too much from the Imperium, but I would at least tell her what was in my heart. I owed her that truth as well, and I owed myself that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	21. Desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae submits to death.

Unfair.

It’s childish to think that, I know. How childish, to be my age, to have seen such injustice and perpetrated the majority of it, and then to have the thought that life was so infinitely unfair to _me. ___

____

____

Or perhaps not.

A sullen ember of bitterness took up residence in my chest as I opened the throttle of the jetbike a little and began a low-power scan looking for signatures that matched the variations given off by Alessa’s power-armour core. All I could do was drift around the city and search, but perhaps that was a blessing.

After the conversation with Alessa… the argument? Was that an argument we had just had? I suppose in a sense, it was, but nevertheless I know I can’t face her right now. I’m too angry, too bitter, and it’s childish to think it but, honestly… 

What choice was _I _given?__

____

____

Born in Commorragh.

Raised in Commorragh.

What else could I have been?

I was inducted into the Wych Cults by necessity, not by choice, although I can’t say I was held prisoner there, can I? After all, I willingly pursued the art of killing, rose to prominence, slaughtered my competition, and ascended to the vaunted rank of Succubus via a mound of the dead.

My hair whips around me like a crimson flag in the damp wind of the Hive, and I’m vaguely aware that I ought to be a bit more careful but, honestly, I can’t be bothered. The stealth tech on my jetbike ensures that, so long as I don’t go past basic thrust, I’ll never be detected, even by Asuryani scanners, and I would hear Orks before I saw them, without a doubt.

As for humans? I’m actively scanning for them.

For Alessa’s people, so I can give her back to them.

The thought makes my heart ache.

I wonder if I would have chosen differently, given the option. I’d never had a choice before and, in a way, a lack of choice is my people’s defining facet.

There is not a Druchi or Asuryani that is permitted an honest choice in their lives. We are born a dying people, heirs to a poisoned legacy, and scions of a shattered empire. The Druchii must slake our Thirst or be devoured by a God of the Warp, the Asuryani must spend every waking moment suppressing their own souls or suffer the same.

Spirit Stones keep the Asuryani safe while my Druchi Thirst protects my soul, but both are just cages. One is crystal, the other flesh, and both serve the singular purpose of keeping our souls from being digested, and _that >i/> is the only choice we get to make._

__

__

How do we keep ourselves alive?

What atrocities are we willing to conscience to survive?

I slowed the jetbike to a crawl, then to a stop as I paused and sighed, staring down the open urban chasm beneath my feet.

“What am I willing to do to survive?” I asked softly.

I think of Alessandra. I think of her lips, and the taste of her, and the feeling of her in my arms. I think of the way her soul tastes, and of that golden sunlight flavor filling my chest with pure power. I think of her melting beneath me, of her body becoming frail and weak as I take and take and take until she’s little more than a husk driven mad by the need to obey me even as I’m killing her.

“Not that,” I bit my lip hard as I opened the throttle again. “ _Never _that.”__

____

____

If that is the fate of us then I would see myself dead and gladly. I refused to poison Alessa anymore than I already have.

I drifted silently through sections of the Hive city, scanning on low as I hugged the walls and floated beneath balconies. I got a ping now and again, but nothing definitive, and nothing that isn’t likely just a sensory ghost, just a refraction of energy that happens to hit the right wavelength for a brief period.

“How many of her kind are even left?” I wonder. “ _Are _there even humans left here?” I grimace at that thought, partially because it hadn’t occurred to me before.__

____

____

The Hive city is immense, but so is the Orkish Waaagh. There is every possibility that, in the thirty-plus cycles we had spent idling ourselves away in domestic fantasy, Alessa’s people had lost the war and either retreated or been exterminated or enslaved by the Greenskins.

If that was the case then it was for the best that Alessa had never gone back to them, I suppose. Brave and strong she may be, but she is one warrior and if it truly took only thirty cycles to end the war then one soldier would have made little to no difference.

She would have just died with the rest of them.

“No,” I mutter, taking a risk as I tuned the scanner on the jetbike a little higher to widen the range. “Humans are many things, but they are not so easily broken… I must be looking in the wrong places.”

Although it’s an even greater risk, I open the throttle of the jetbike more and rise above thrust, engaging the main gravity drive. I can taste the weather turning, it tastes of ozone and chemical-tainted rain. A storm is coming, and a big one, and if I don’t find the human forces soon I might not find them at all.

If my instincts were correct then this storm could last weeks, and by that point I would be…

Well, I wouldn’t be fit to conduct any kind of search. I had to find them quickly.

My frustration grew as the hours passed. I got a ping every now and again, but never anything definite. A signal here, a point there, but each time I went to check I found nothing. My head was pounding too, and my whole body was cold… my mind felt sluggish and I cursed myself for a slow-witted wretch as I reached the edge of the perimeter I’d marked out for myself.

Nothing.

Just sensor ghosts and the forgotten dead.

I cursed as I whipped the jetbike around. I had to get back to the spire, and soon. The storm was nearly upon the Hive, and cold droplets were already beginning to fall. In another few hours this wartorn city would be sieged by rainfall.

“Isarae you miserable fool,” I spat as I angled the jetbike back home. “You should have done this cycles ago, not waited til the very last moment.”

Bitter anger welled up in me again as I opened the throttle once more and leaned forward, cutting through the biting wind and icy rain, ducking low to move into the spire strata where mine and Alessa's quarters were located.

The rain comes quickly now and, where once my physiology would have simply burned hotter to compensate, now I start to shiver and shake. I can barely feel the controls of the jetbike in my numb fingers, and my ears are filled with the howling wind as I put on a bit more speed to try and get back to safety quickly.

Little wonder, then, that I did not hear the bark of the bolter before the round struck the stripped down engine casing and blew out the drive manifold.

Physics went haywire around me as the local gravity fields violently convulsed and my jetbike was sent hurtling to and fro as I jerked against the steering column, trying to wrest control before the juddering thrusters could plough me into the wall of a spire.

I barely managed to swing the bike low enough to a thoroughfare that ran between two spires before the high, screaming whine of my bike reached my ears.

Hissing a stream of invectives, I leapt from the saddle, twisting in the wind and rain to bleed out my momentum, but I still struck the ground hard enough to bruise muscle and bone. I watched my bike spiral away several meters before it detonated violently midair as the engine went critical.

The next sound I was conscious of beyond the explosion was booted feet, a familiar, heavy, power-armoured tread approaching from my left and right.

Another curse followed my last and I took off at a dead sprint, my legs burning from the impact as I sought shelter in the narrow alleys.

How had I not detected them? My attention had lapsed, that was the only explanation. My acuity was fading with my vitality, I was cold and shivering… and moreover, these were not graceless Orks; the thunder of the boots behind me was certainly the sound of Imperial discipline at work. The power-armoured weight suggested no ordinary soldiers either.

Nor those genhanced warriors.

Which could mean only one thing on this world… I was being pursued by more of Alessa’s sisterhood.

So I ran.

My breath came in labored heaves and my limbs were leaden, and I could hear them keeping pace with me. If I were still at my peak there would be no contest, but I was too weak, critically so, and they would eventually catch me.

I kept running all the same.

My sense of direction, at least, was still strong, and I knew if I could just get to the spire I could lose them. I knew its halls well after so many cycles spent wandering them, and I was confident I could evade them within the twisting ruin.

I just needed to-

The bark of a bolter split the air and I jerked to the side, survival instinct and reaction driving me as I dove away just as I emerged from an alleyway.

The round detonated against the stonework wall where my chest had been. It had been a well-aimed shot, center mass, and an instant kill had I been struck by it.

More shots chewed up the ground around me as I danced between the explosive rounds. My razorflail flickered out again and again, the segmented blades catching, cutting, and turning aside the sporadic fire until I reached the center of the plaza I had found myself in.

“Cease fire!”

A strong, cultured voice called the order out, and instantly the weapon's fire fell silent. As it did, I realised with a touch of sick irony exactly where I was.

There were dead Orks everywhere, most notably in a small pile that had since rotted down to almost nothing between natural decay and the looting instinct of their own twisted kind. I could even see some of the imagery on the plaza beneath, caked with gore as it was.

I had come back around to the place where it had all begun. The place where I had saved Alessa’s life and, in doing so, irrevocably changed my own.

How very fitting.

“Move and you die, xenos witch,” the voice said, and it was punctuated by the rapid motion of armoured boots.

The dust that had been thrown up in the fusillade was settled now, and as it did I saw them: A dozen sisters forming up before me, about two squads if the memory of my conversations with Alessa were accurate. Each one of them had her bolter trained on a different part of my body, all but guaranteeing a kill shot if I tried anything.

The speaker, a taller, robust woman in ornate power armour, stepped forward from between the women. Her head was bald but for a metal skullcap and a single silver braid, and her face was lined with scars and experience, and her eyes were dichotomous, with one being a sharp, clear blue, while the other was an augmetic with a pinprick of red light at its center.

“Eldar,” she addressed me coldly. “Your existence is an affront to His Divine Majesty, and your presence here, a heresy by definition.”

I did not reply, nor did I move. Instead, I kept my eyes on hers as she met my gaze without fear.

“I shall give you one opportunity to serve,” she continued. “Your kind are piratical sadists and abominations, but you do not operate alone… where is the rest of your poison brood?”

Ah, of course. That was why she had ordered the ceasefire and not continued her momentum. I ought to have known.

“I have no allegiance,” I replied in gothic, “nor allies to speak of.”

“Liar!” One of the sisters spat the word like a curse, but the elder sister held up a staying hand.

“Your kind lie as my kind breathe, Eldar,” she replied in kind. “Why should I believe you?”

“I am an outcaste,” I said in all truth, ironically. “I am abandoned here and, as I said, I have no allegiance… I fled here through a webway portal that is located some seven kilometers under the mountains that border this city if you wish to examine it.”

There was no need to hide it anymore, and if I were quite lucky I might just have given my Craftworld cousins a sharp poke in the eye before my inevitable demise, which amused me.

The sisters shared disbelieving looks at my confession. My frankness had caught them off guard, and for a moment I caught myself wondering if Alessandra might have been right, and if it might be possible to-

“Very well, take aim, sisters,” the commander said sharply.

Naturally, not.

I tightened my grip on my razorflail as a dozen bolters sharpened their aim onto me once more.

This was where I would die. That much was certain and I could not change it, but I _could _take them with me… that much I was also sure of. Perhaps not all of them, but enough.__

____

____

Better than half, at least.

This first fusillade would miss me, I could ensure that, at least, and from there I could slaughter at least three, maybe four depending on individual reflexes. The next barrage might take me, but I would strike out one last time and slay another pair or so.

Six to eight, then.

In my death, I would be certain of sending six to eight of them to the side of their corpse god.

“Submit to death,” the leader commanded. “Submit to the fate of all xenobreed who dare lay a single twisted limb upon the holy demesne of Him On Earth.”

I ignored her as I looked over the sisters under her command.

Each young woman, most no older than Alessa, had the same pale white hair, cut short and bobbed, and their skin was sun-kissed like hers. They were so similar that I thought they must be part of her commandery.

These were not just similar to Alessa, they were most certainly comrades and family to her as well, and…

…and I saw her in them. In their sharp eyes, and their youthful faces, I saw _her. ___

____

____

My Alessa.

I could not do it.

I could not bring them harm.

The thought of it brought the image of Alessa’s face roaring to the forefront of my mind. She would find my body, of that I am also certain, and when she did she would find me dead amidst the shattered corpses of her beloved sisters, and I could perfectly envision the look on her face in my mind's eye.

The look of pain and betrayal and grief.

It was not in me to harm her in that manner, nor in any manner if I could help it. I am so sorry, Alessa…

I’m not coming back this time.

Letting out a quiet breath, I raised both hands gripping my razorflail and met the commander’s eyes again. They were sharp and hateful, and I knew she expected me to move, to attack, and to kill as any other of my kind would kill them.

I would not give her that satisfaction.

I dropped my weapon to the ground with a deafening clatter, the sound muffled only by the rain.

“I so submit,” I said clearly, and bowed my head.

A new silence descended, one of shock and surprise. I did not raise my head, I merely waited. They did not have mercy in them, I knew that, and I had no illusions that this would change their minds.

But at least this way I could die knowing that Alessa would still be able to recall my face without the pain of betrayal cutting into her.

That would have to be enough.

“An Eldar who knows her place,” the commander said just loudly enough for me to hear clearly. “Truly, the God-Emperor graces us with miracles this day.”

_You are the miracle, Isarae. ___

____

____

I chuckled softly as I recalled Alessa’s fond words in the chapel, then closed my eyes and thought of her. I thought of how she felt in my arms as she slept, and of that warm, solid, lovely weight, and of her eyes like the sun shining through maiden forest leaves. I thought of her lips, and the warmth of them when we shared our first and only kiss, and of how her hand filled mine just right when we would sit together after sparring or in the bath.

“Forgive me,” I whispered the words near-silently, and I said the last words, my last words, in Aeldari.

“ _I love you, Alessa. _”__

____

____

“Execute her.”

The words came out, and on their heels my world turned to thunder.


	22. Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessandra shatters.

Unfair.

It was the first word that sprang to mind as I considered my position. I was torn between two worlds that had no place among one another. There was my world, the Imperium that held my oath and what should have been my unswerving loyalty, and the world that seemed more and more to be contained to this small, prefabricated set of quarters where I lived with Isarae.

This infinitesimal point in the galaxy which had, in short order, become such a powerful draw for me.

My oath to my Order and to the God-Emperor had once felt unshakeable, and then Isarae had come into my life, nursed me back to health, treated me with kindness and affection, and suddenly…

I sighed quietly as I fitted the Artificer Armour to my body, each piece clicking into place with a muttered litany. I would have to have the armourers reconsecrate it as soon as I was back in the priory. I had enough knowledge of the Rites of Armament that I was reasonably sure I could don it without offending the machine spirit, but this armour was ancient, noble, and made for one whose faith had never wavered.

Unlike me.

Unlike the woman who would be so petty as to consider her plight to be ‘unfair’.

I was gifted with strength, training, blessed wargear, and the love of the Emperor, and I had the audacity to resent these gifts because Isarae’s continued presence did not count among them.

And yet, resent them I did.

I slammed a fresh magazine into my bolter, perhaps a bit more harshly than was warranted, and racked the feed. The counter displayed a full count, and I stowed another three more full magazines across my armor before maglocking the weapon to my hip.

The weight of this armour should have been light, carried as it was on the sacred servos and support chassis of the machine, but instead it was almost suffocating.

There was no world in which I deserved to wear this armour. I who had failed to even correctly die amongst my sisters. I who had failed to kill a xeno witch, and instead…

Instead I…

I lifted my fingers to my lips.

Though many cycles had passed since the events of the chapel, I could still feel her there. I could taste the softness of her mouth and the strength of her arms as she cradled me. There was nothing like it in my mind, it had seared itself there indelibly, and I wasn’t sure I wanted it gone even though I knew it was a sin.

She had been dying, and I had offered myself to her. I had let a witch taste of my soul to save her from a rightful and earned damnation because I… 

“Isarae,” I whispered her name, and on its heels a splinter of pain entered my heart.

She would return soon, it had been hours since she’d left and she would be back in short order unless she wanted to risk the heavy rainfall. I’d needed those hours to find the strength to do this, because after she’d gone I had simply sat on the long couch despondently with my hand held out beside me as if waiting for her to join me and put her hand in mine like she always did.

I’d spent hours sitting there, a pain aching in my chest as I tried not to imagine how empty my life would be in just another cycle. Less than a cycle and my Isarae would be gone forever, and I would be back among my sisters to spend the rest of my days and nights trying to forget a pair of wisteria eyes and lips like soft clover.

So I’d busied myself with the armour, finally donning it after so long avoiding doing so out of guilt and shame. This way, when Isarae got back, whether she had located my sisters or not, I would tell her the truth, then I would reactivate the transponder.

Maybe she would be angry with me, or perhaps she would be flattered at my choice. Either way, it would be an ending to this strange life we had made for ourselves here.

She would leave me to find her death, and I knew in my heart that a part of me would go out and die with her.

Perhaps after returning to my Order, I would take up the mantle of Repentia.

My death would be assured, and perhaps in that I could find some manner of atonement for my sins over these many cycles.

And in the deepest shadows of my mind I wondered if, maybe, I would find Isarae waiting for me too.

The sound of explosive rounds tore me from my thoughts, and I jerked my head up sharply at the noise. It wasn’t the unhealthy cough of Ork shootas making that sound, but the strong steady bark of an Imperial bolter, and it was _incredibly near. ___

____

____

Shaking the last cobwebs from my mind, I dashed out to the balcony and leaned against the railing, hanging to the side and looking back and forth, straining my ears to try and locate the source of the sounds through the acoustic shadows of the Hive spires.

Another explosion caught my eye and I turned and looked down, my breath catching in my throat as I saw the source of the fighting.

The plaza adjacent to the spire, where Isarae had laid her trap for the Orks and instead had inadvertently caught a wounded and overly curious sister of battle, was alight with gunfire, and in the midst of all it was her.

“Isarae,” terror gripped my heart as I said the name.

She was spinning, rolling, and diving to avoid the gunfire and, to my horror, I watched as two squads of _my own sisterhood _emerged from the shadows of the alleys and narrow streets to surround Isarae, guns leveled and aimed with the clockwork precision I had once been so proud of.__

____

____

Amidst them, Isarae watched warily, the haft of her razorflail gripped tightly in her hands.

Isarae was surrounded, outnumbered, and outgunned by a dozen of the Imperium’s finest mortal warriors and, with that knowledge, I was absolutely certain of one thing, and one thing only.

All of my sisters below were about to die.

I had watched Isarae eviscerate almost a hundred Orks in the span of heartbeats. She moved like she could walk on lightning and dance across water, and as much as I loved my sisters and respected them I was certain that not a single one of their rounds would so much as touch Isarae as she tore their bodies apart.

Shakily, I reached into the cache of my armour and drew out a scope, locked it to the bolter, and moved to the edge of the rail before kneeling, bracing, and taking aim.

I aimed at Isarae’s heart.

It was the only choice.

She didn’t know I was here. She was powerful, but not perfect, and by now I knew her movements almost as well as I knew my own. If it was me, I knew I could hit her… I could hit Isarae before she killed a single one of my sisters.

Maybe this was how it should be.

Isarae wanted death, it was her first and only purpose on this world, and I would be the one to give it to her.

One bolt, center mass. Instant, quick, and clean.

I would kill my beloved Isarae and she would never even feel it, never have time to feel my betrayal. It was the coldest, cruelest, and only mercy that I could give her.

Tears rolled down my cheeks and my hands shook as I breathed in harsh gulps of air.

The Sister Superior of one of the squads was speaking to Isarae, and Isarae was speaking back. She had that sardonic look on her face, the one that said she was laughing at you just a little. I loved that look because it was always playful when it was aimed at me, but the look I loved best was the one she wore while she was sleeping.

It looked like peace, and I found myself hoping that would be the look she wore when I killed her.

On a whim, I blink-clicked the internal vox of my suit on and tuned it to the nearest command frequency.

// _-lie as my kind breathe, Eldar, why should I believe you? _//__

____

____

I winced, the words sounded harsh and I knew I had said almost identical ones to Isarae when we had met. I regretted those words terribly, and only now did I realise I had never apologised for them. I should have told her I was sorry for my words when we first met, I should have told her how much I cared and how much she meant to me.

Isarae had told _me _, just before she left.__

____

____

_I do this because you are precious to me, Alessa. ___

____

____

// _Very well, take aim sisters. _//__

____

____

I went rigid. This was the moment… this was where Isarae would move. In the bare instant of their pulled triggers, she would move and slaughter them. In that moment, when they were partially blinded by the muzzle flash of their own bolters and their reflexes just marginally slower than they might have otherwise been, she would end their lives.

// _Submit to death. _// The sister intoned.__

____

____

Taking a deep breath, I steadied my hand, took aim again, and forced back my tears.

There was no prayer to the Emperor on my lips this time, just a name.

One name.

“Isarae.”

// _Submit to the fate of all xenobreed who dare lay a single twisted limb upon the holy demesne of Him On Earth. _//__

____

____

The crosshairs of my scope were trained over her heart, and I refused to pray this time. I refused to lift a single word on high. This would be my sin, and I would bear it for the rest of my days.

I watched as Isarae gripped her razorflail, and I tensed my finger over the trigger. 

I watched as she raised it outward, her sharp, beautiful eyes never wavering as she met the gaze of the Sister Superior. I tried to fix that image in my mind, that fearless face with its wonderful eyes and sunrise hair.

I watched… as she let out a breath and _dropped her weapon. ___

____

____

Even though I was too far distant to hear it strike the ground, I could still feel it echoing in my ears. The clatter of the segmented blades striking the stonework plaza was deafening to me even though I knew in the back of my mind that I could not possibly hear the sound itself.

Isarae’s lips moved, and though I couldn’t hear her voice either I could read the three simple words easily enough.

_I so submit. ___

____

____

There were several sharp intakes of breath over the vox network, the sounds of shock and surprise from my sisters as a lethal enemy seemingly chose death or vengeance or violence. It was absolutely impossible to reason the why of it… at least it would be impossible for them, and for anyone else who did not know Isarae as I did.

// _An Eldar who knows her place. _// The certain tone of the Sister Superior rankled at me, and bile filled my throat. // _Truly, the God-Emperor graces us with miracles this day. _//____

_____ _

_____ _

They could not know.

They couldn’t know that Isarae wasn’t simply accepting her death. She could find any death in all the galaxy if she so desired… she was choosing this death for one reason and one reason only.

My hands were shaking again as I watched Isarae bow her head, and shame filled my heart. It was different this time, though, because before this I had known shame only for my actions and my sins against the God-Emperor and my sisters, but now?

Now my shame was so much heavier because I had betrayed Isarae. My wonderful, beautiful Isarae who I had been prepared to kill had, unaware of the threat I posed, chosen to mercifully spare my sisters because of _me. ___

____

____

That notion was cemented as I read her last words on her lips.

_Forgive me. ___

____

____

Oh, Isarae… there was nothing to forgive.

Her next words were curling Aeldari syllables, but the final word at the end of the sentence was one I knew well.

It wasn’t an Aeldari word after all.

Her final word was my name.

// _Execute her. _//__

____

____

I didn’t even think before I moved. I altered my aim in an instant, slammed the bolter against the rail, leaned my weight against it, flipped the setting to fully automatic, and was only dimly aware of my own voice screaming in manifold rage as I unloaded the full magazine straight down into the plaza-

-and across my own sisters’ heads.

Their line shattered instantly, sending my sisters scattering in a panic as the plaza detonated wildly around them. My bolter roared before hammering dry, and I threw the empty magazine, slammed a new one home, racked the feed and fired again.

Another hail of bolts chewed apart the plaza, and my sisters scrambled for the cover of alleyways and, somewhere in the chaos, I noted that Isarae had taken advantage of the tumult to simply vanish, taking her razorflail with her.

My sisters didn’t even bother panning for the threat I posed, they were too busy sprinting for cover. A few of them fired blind, controlled bursts in my vague direction, but it was clear that none of them knew where I was firing from. I had a total drop on them and they were following standard combat protocol against ambushes now which was to splinter, regroup, reassess, and strike back.

There would be nothing to strike back against by the time they rallied, though.

The sole consolation that I could claim after having loosed the contents of two full magazines into a formation of my own sisterhood was that none of them had fallen to my shots. The distance had been too great, the spread too wide, and the worst any of them had suffered was a ricochet or caught a piece of shrapnel.

Still, I had undoubtedly spilled blood.

_Sororitas _blood.__

____

____

Worse, I had done so using one of our own sacred armaments. I had done the very thing I had sworn not to permit the Orks to be able to do, and I had done so in defense of the heretical existence of a Dark Eldar.

I stumbled back from the edge of the balcony so none of the rallying sisters would see me as I collapsed to my knees. The bolter I’d been gripping like death fell from numb fingers to strike the ground with a dull thud.

My vision was a dull gray tunnel, and my breathing could only come in short, sharp rasps as I started to scrabble at the catches of the chapel armor.

I couldn’t recall the Litanies of Disarmament, but it didn’t matter. Being removed a little roughly was hardly the worst heresy this suit had suffered, and I could only assume that the sooner it was no longer protecting my unworthy flesh the happier the machine spirit would be.

Greaves, sabatons, and vambraces crashed onto the ground, I nearly tore the catch on the cuirass as I pulled it free as well, and soon enough I was sitting on the balcony wearing only a slightly scuffed bodyglove with my knees pulled tight against my chest as I rocked back and forth and tried not to vomit amidst the shed armour and spent shell casings.

That was how Isarae found me an hour later.

Her footsteps were soft, but I would know that gentle, near-soundless tread even in the heat of battle. The steps approached slowly, terminating at the balcony doors which were only a meter or so behind me.

“So it _was _you,” Isarae said in the quietest voice I’d ever heard her use.__

____

____

I was still staring blankly out across the Hive, the rain had been pouring in earnest for about half an hour now but I hadn’t noticed it until Isarae’s voice broke me out of my fugue.

She moved up beside me and sat cross-legged by side. Her hand swept along the floor and lifted up a few charred casings, damp from rainfall, and sighed.

“You should have let them end me, _Cre’yth, _” she said.__

____

____

“I thought you were going to kill them,” the words came out before anything else. I think I had too many sins weighing on me, and I needed to unburden at least a few of them. “I had my bolter trained on you, right… right across your heart.”

I didn’t look at her. 

How could I? 

How could I look Isarae in the eye and tell her I had been prepared to kill her because I had thought she would murder the women of my order that I had sworn to protect? I’d had no proof that she would do something like that beyond the teachings of the Schola and the Imperium, and my own experience told me clearly that she had a heart, and that there was kindness within it.

Instead I just hung my head and sobbed.

“I’m sorry…” the words came out broken and cracked.

“Don’t be,” Isarae replied, the shell casings clattered as she tossed them to the side, sending them rolling off the balcony.

“How can you-?”

“You keep to your oaths,” Isarae cut me off. “You protected your sisters, and then… then you protected me.”

“I fired on my own sisters,” I spoke the words hollowly. I knew that, regardless of whether or not I said it aloud, my actions were real, but saying it somehow made it worse. “I… I _attacked _my own sisters!”__

____

____

Isarae’s hand slid around my cheek, grasping my jaw gently, and she turned my head until I was facing her.

I knew I was crying, I knew that my eyes were red and puffy, and there were tracks of salt running down skin that's irritated from the slight chemical composition of the rain.

Then, Isarae moved closer, knelt, slipped her arms under me, one beneath my knees and the other at my back, and picked me up with a noise of effort and strain, before carrying me back into the quarters, then to the bath.

She ran it hot and while it filled she stripped the bodyglove from me carefully. I let her, I was too far gone now to stop her anyway… I had been afraid of getting too close to her, that doing so would damn my soul, and despite that wariness I had managed to bring Isarae so close to my heart that she and it were now impossible to differentiate, and I had done so without even realising it.

So a bath seemed somewhat childish to protest against.

I let her lower me into the hot water, and she followed me a moment after doffing her own leathers, and I let her wash me like she always did. Isarae touched me with such care, and within moments, in spite of my self-hatred, I found myself leaning back against her and making small noises of appreciation.

Ah… that’s it.

I realised it as she was rinsing my hair. I realised that out there, on that balcony, I had made a choice.

Between Imperium and exile, between oath and heart, between sisterhood and… and Isarae.

I had chosen Isarae.

“Alessa?”

I liked how she said my name. I’d never let myself have the thought before, but I truly did. I loved the way her tongue rolled across the ‘s’s, and how her accent colored the vowels. I adored how her voice always softened when she said my name, no matter the mood she was in or what was happening… if she was speaking to me, or of me, it would come out that much softer.

As Isarae finished washing me, I turned and met her eyes fully for the first time since she came back.

She looked tired… there were bags under her eyes that hadn’t been there before, and I wondered if it was stress or worry.

Whatever it was, I would soothe it.

I moved up the steps out of the bath, and as I did I took Isarae’s hand and guided her out with me. She followed… she always did, and I had to hold back a bitter laugh as I only admitted that to myself now, of all times.

Admitting that a few hours earlier might’ve helped.

Isarae, for all her bluster and sardonic smiles and acid humor, nearly always did what I asked so long as I was willing to ask it of her. She caved to me on almost everything, and I’d never even noticed until now… I’d been a fool to think she would ever harm my sisters.

After all, she’d all but told me she wouldn’t.

Isarae dried me with a reverence I did not deserve, but I let her do it anyway. I know that she liked to touch me, and now I was willing to admit that I enjoyed her touching me just as much if not a great deal more.

Only once she was done drying her own long, sunrise hair, did I take her hand again and pull her after me.

“Your bodyglove,” she began, but I shook my head.

“Leave it.”

“Alessa?”

“Just follow me,” I said softly, pulling on her hand again and, as always, she caved and followed.

I led us through the den of the quarters, both naked as the day we were born, then down the hallway and into the bedroom, and as I pulled her inside I shut the door, turned to her, and draped my arms across her shoulders.

“Alessa?!” there was a tone of alarm in her voice, but her arms went around my waist all the same.

Dear Isarae, you truly are terrible at saying no to me, aren’t you?

“Yes, ‘Rae?” I shifted a little closer until we were nearly flush, and my lips were a fingertip’s breadth from hers.

“I told you,” Isarae said, sounding worried. “I will not drink from-”

“I’m not asking you to drink from me,” I cut her off this time, then I lean in and press my lips gently to hers.

She melts against me, and a low growl starts in the back of her throat. I know that she wants to drink the way that she did in the chapel. I can feel the tug somewhere deep behind my ribcage, like someone pulling at an errant string.

It goes no further, just as I knew it would not.

Isarae would never hurt me, after all.

As we parted, Isarae stared into my eyes with a searching gaze. I let her look, and I watched as her eyes traced across my face, and I don’t know why I never saw it before, there was warmth there… no, not just warmth, but something far deeper.

“What… what do you want from me, Alessa?” Her voice was a dry, hungry rasp.

I’d made my choice on the balcony.

Pulling away, I was a little gratified to feel the brief hesitation of Isarae’s grip. She didn’t want to let go of me, but she did, as she always would so long as it was what I wanted. I moved to the bed, slipped across it until I was in my usual place, then gestured for her to join me.

That was the moment I learned what a Druchi looked like when she blushed, and it was a sight I would treasure forever.

But she followed me nonetheless, and I curled up against her the moment she was near enough, twining my legs with hers, then drew her close until we were breaths apart.

“What do I want from you?” I repeated, then I leaned in and kissed her with more passion and fire than I think even she was expecting, a short, furious press of lips, and when I pulled away I took her face in both hands and answered her.

“I want you to make love to me.”


	23. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae finds her heart.

Those words, so softly spoken, deafened me.

_I want you to make love to me._

I was so stunned I couldn’t move for a moment. It didn’t matter, though, because Alessa’s moved for me. She drew my hands over her, pulling at me until I was moving over and straddling her.

She smiled up at me beautifully, her lips curving as she relaxed back into the bed with her arms raised over her head and her legs shifting against mine in a kind of gentle need. The sight was intoxicating, how many nights had I imagined just this image beneath me? How many times had I wanted her? Needed her?

And here she was, submitting herself to me entirely, but…

“Are you sure?”

I asked because I had to, because I needed to know it was what she truly wanted.

“I am,” Alessandra shivered a little as the storm outside sent a ripple of cold air through the room. “I want you to love me, ‘Rae… if that is what you-”

I didn’t let her finish the question, I sealed my lips over hers, and relished the soft moan that followed.

As I pulled back, breathing hard and flushed, I met her gaze and ran my fingers across the line of her cheekbone.

“Know this, Alessa,” I spoke quietly around the tightness in my chest. “I am Druchi, and we are broken things… I cannot say I know what it is to be good, but with you, Alessa, _my_ Alessa?” I spoke the last two words as a question and, to my delight, she nodded. “My Alessa, I know at least, what it is to be in love.”

I leaned close, pressing my body to hers and my lips brushed her ears as I cradled her.

“ _I love you, Alessa,_ ” I spoke again what I had thought were my final words, once again in Aeldari, and this time I knew that she understood them perfectly.

Some things, I think, transcend language.

“I love you, too, ‘Rae,” Alessandra sobbed, pulling me closer. “Always… now and always.”

Her fingers scraped along the bare skin of my back and tangled with my hair as my hands found all the delicate places of her body, her hips and sides, up to the swell of her breasts until I was cradling her face; that beautiful, angelic face that haunted my dreams as much as I’d tried to ignore it.

Now, I was done ignoring. I was done doing anything but falling into her arms. Even if it was the very last thing I would do with my life, I was certain it would be worthwhile.

I pulled Alessandra into another kiss, and she moaned airily as I dragged her closer and slipped my leg between both of hers, up to the wet heat between her thighs.

Alessa gasped sharply as the dampness of her arousal spread across my leg. I ground myself against her, and she let out quiet moans against my mouth as she shivered and shuddered until finally-

“I-ISARAE!”

My name on her lips was sweeter than any music as she clenched around my leg and climaxed. She was strong, and the power and vitality in her was suffocating. I could take it for myself, if I wanted, but for the first time in my life I didn’t.

I wanted to take nothing from her, I wanted to give _everything_ to her. I wanted her to smile and laugh, I wanted her to kiss me and rest at my side for all the years of her painfully short, human life, but I knew that would not happen.

I would die, and soon, and I would give her everything of me before that happened.

“Ssh,” I cooed while I cradled her, pressing Alessa down against the bed as I kissed her again, brief and soft. “Just let me love you…”

I moved down her beautiful body, kissing along her neck and across her collar before fixing my lips over the peak of her breast for a moment, suckling and sending shocks of pleasure up Alessa’s body as she writhed in quiet need. Her fingers tangled into my hair, pressing me insistently closer as I pulled back, and continued to move down.

My lips brushed along her ribs, kissing every faint and pale scar. I let my tongue trace the curved lines of muscle of her taut stomach to the hollow of her navel until finally I reached my prize between her legs. 

The tickle of my breath put a shiver up her body, and she hitched her legs up to drape them welcomingly over my shoulders, drawing me closer to her.

Alessandra’s sex was dripping, swollen slightly from arousal after her first climax and glistening. I let out a soft breath, and she shivered again, a small cry leaving her as my breath crossed her sensitive folds. I didn’t make her wait, and lowered my mouth to her, running my tongue out to its full length and licking up her wetness.

The sensation must have been overwhelming because Alessandra let out a loud, long cry as her legs tightened around my head and a splash of sweet liquid poured across my tongue.

She was deliciously sensitive, and even though the haze of weariness stealing across my senses, I could feel her and smell her. I could taste her, the flavor of her soul was an undercurrent of everything, and it was addictive. It was like being wrapped in pure, clean sunlight, the likes of which I have not felt in ages…

Maybe I have never felt it.

Shame, that. I would not waste what I had found though, and I delved deeper, letting my tongue slip between Alessa’s folds and find the sensitive places inside of her.

Every movement I made was echoed through her body, and she writhed on the bed (on _our_ bed) as she came again and again.

Perhaps it was cheating a little, but my ability to feel the echoes of her soul told me precisely where she felt the most pleasure, and I found myself grateful for the twisted gift of my kind in that moment for the sole reason that it taught me in the quickest possible manner how to please Alessa as best as I could.

Following those impulses, I gripped her hips and ran my hands up and down her powerful legs, relishing the gorgeous strength of her body as she let herself be entirely vulnerable beneath me.

“I-Isarae…” she moaned my name silkily again and again. “My love… Isarae… I love you…”

Her words drove me onward, making my blood boil as I tasted her, drowned in her, and let myself fall deeper and deeper in love with her.

“My love…” Alessa moaned as her fingers twisted in my hair, taking a hard grip before pressing me harder against her.

Love… yes, I loved her. I loved her as deeply as was possible, and for an Aeldari that is deep indeed.

My heart thundered in my chest with a fury I could not recall ever knowing before now. My blunt senses were alive with sensation the likes of which no Drukhari dared to experience without the veil of the Thirst shielding them.

But I was dying anyway, so I dared.

Let those noisome predators see me… let She Who Thirsts peer through the cloy of their warped realm and see that I am Isarae of Comorragh, and not only am I in love, I am _loved in return._

I rose from between Alessa’s legs, my cheeks flushed and tongue lolling out as Alessa’s wetness dripped from my lips and chin. 

As for Alessa, she was a beautiful mess; panting and sweating on the bed, her head a messy white halo of pale strands as her chest rose and fell in rapid patterns of breath. Her lips were chapped from gasping and as I raised my head and shoulders Alessa’s legs fell limply from my shoulders, her orgasms having stolen control of them from her.

“Mm…My t-toes are tingling,” Alessa laughed as her maiden-leaf eyes fluttered open.

“I hope I make more than your toes tingle,” I replied as I drew my tongue back into my mouth, and Alessa blushed a deeper crimson before reaching out for me, gesturing for me to come to her.

I did so gladly, kissing my way up her body, refusing to pass it without giving her the love and devotion she deserved until was crouched over her again.

“Hold me?” Alessa’s tone was quiet and pleading, and I pulled her into my arms.

Alessa’s lips found mine a moment later and for a time we simply kissed. We bathed in one another’s presence, and I hated myself for a moment to know that I was leaving her so soon.

She felt fragile in my arms, as if she would come apart at any moment if I weren’t holding her together. I loved her so deeply, and through that connection I knew that my end would be no less a blade through Alessa’s heart than if I were to kill her myself. I knew because I could feel it, I could taste it… I could feel her love and her longing for me, even when we could be no closer than we already were, she still ached for me, and…

Oh, Alessa… I’m so sorry.

Alessa pulled away slowly, her eyes burning with emerald light as she kissed at my neck, and then up along my jaw until she reached my ear and fixed her teeth onto my earlobe, drawing out a small hiss of pleasure from me.

“Your turn,” she whispered.

I grinned as I turned my head to fix my teeth onto her lower lip before turning it into another kiss.

“Deprive me of your taste would you?” I hissed, and she shuddered as I pushed her back down to the bed. “Lay there… let’s do it like this…”

I turned around until I had my knees on either side of her head and I was looking down at that gorgeous prize between her legs. I lowered myself to her as I found Alessa’s slit with my tongue again, brushing my hair from my face as I did.

If I was to die, then I would know as much of her as I could. I had barely begun to taste her, though, when I felt her mouth on me. It was tentative and uncertain, like a first kiss, but it sent shivers through me nonetheless. I could feel her hesitancy and her doubt as she tasted me, with her soft tongue flicking out from between her lips.

I rolled my hips a little, encouraging her to keep going, further, faster, and harder, even as I fixed my lips over her small nub, sucking and teasing with my tongue.

Her moans vibrated against me, and the sensation, physical and psychic, sent waves of pleasure through me.

Only as she pushed harder against me, slipping her tongue inside as she worked her fingers into me gently, did I realise what was so intoxicating about this.

Alessa was virginal, yes. I didn’t need her to tell me to know that I was the first to be with her like this, but in a way… so was I.

To say that I’d had a long life filled with excess was a dire understatement. I had known sexual encounters that would twist the stomach of the most decadent and corrupt of the _Mon-keigh_ elite. In my pursuit of sensation, running that same race against the reach of the Great Serpent that all of my kind ran, I had laid with creatures that would push my senses beyond the pale… horrors from the deep places of the Haemonculi laboratories, and the less said about my encounters with a Mandrake the better.

But this…

Before this, I do not think I have ever truly _made love._

“Alessa…” her name slipped from my lips by instinct as she pushed me closer and closer to my edge, a place I had long since thought beyond me since my senses had become so blunt. “More… my Alessa… my love…”

Alessa moaned in assent, encouraged as she obeyed my requests.

In moments we were both at our end, her legs twisting and shaking in pleasure, and my knees barely kept me upright as Alessa brought me to a shaking climax. She was relentless, and the moment she felt me cum, she pushed harder and further, licking and lapping at me, and filling my mind with blinding pleasure.

“A-Alessa!” I cried out as I felt my legs go out from under me, and I collapsed against her.

I couldn’t keep myself from licking her though, slowly, and carefully, and she took the cue to slow her roll until she was bringing me down as carefully as I was with her.

The effort was massive, but I managed to right myself and crawl up beside her, only to collapse by her side. My legs were no longer shaking, but only because I couldn’t feel them anymore, and my grip was nonexistent. My arms felt like someone had run an electric current through them until the muscles had been reduced to gelatin.

And my breath… my lungs were burning…

Damn it all.

I had hoped I might have another cycle after this, but I had felt too much, known too much, and burned too brightly.

“My love…” Alessa curled up beside me, unaware of the pain that was building in my body she wrapped her arms around me.

I wanted to hold her too, but my limbs refused to obey my commands.

“Al...essa…” I breathed, and the air in my chest rattled.

She tensed around me as I spoke, and I cursed myself for my weakness. She had noticed… then again, it was time, I suppose. I could not lie to her any longer. I couldn’t hide my condition from her now, not when my end was so close.

Alessa deserved to know.

“Isarae?” Alessa’s voice had gone from husky to worried in a moment as she rose up from where she was laying. “Are you… ‘Rae, what’s wrong?”

I chuckled raggedly as I forced myself to turn over on the bed, it was a clumsy motion that went unaided by my slowly cooling limbs.

“I am not, unfortunately,” I admitted. My breaths had grown shallow and unsteady.

Alessandra’s eyes grew wide as she pulled herself up to sitting and reached a hand up to my neck, laying two fingers over my pulse. A curse slipped from her lips as she put a hand to my forehead and froze, then pulled her hand away.

“You’re… you’re cold,” she said softly. “And your pulse is so weak… ‘Rae what’s happening?”

“Remember the chapel?” I asked quietly, and her eyes widened. “The hunger of She Who Thirsts cannot be staved off eternally, and she tasted my soul on that day… since then, my lifeforce has been ebbing, my body failing me, and my senses dulling.”

With every word, Alessa’s face fell.

“How… you knew?” The look of betrayal on her face was a near-physical pain, and an absolutely psychic one. “How could you-... you didn’t tell me!?”

“You would have asked me to drink from you if I had,” I replied with a weak laugh that turned into a rattling cough. “And I am terrible at saying no to you… so yes, I did not tell you.”

“Well, you were right!” Alessa snarled. “Do it! Do it now! Drink from me!”

She moved closer, but I shook my head.

“It’s… too late,” I replied, my words were coming out halting now. “I would… have to drink… a legion… of your kind… to stave Her off now.”

And even then it would only give me a handful of years, at most. Eventually I would become like the most terrible archons, drinking whole swathes of mortal kine to prolong themselves, and that effort was beyond me.

Tears were rolling down Alessa’s face as she leaned in to cradle me, pulling my head into her lap as she stroked my hair.

“No!” she sobbed. “There must be something!”

I shook my head, which really just amounted to me turning in back and forth with aching slowness.

“There is nothing… to be done, my love,” I replied. “Selfish though it is… I ask only this… that you stay with me… while I am dying.”


	24. Unleashed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a sister weeps, and a succubus prays.

Those words, so softly spoken, deafened me.

_…I am dying._

It was obscene.

Utterly obscene.

Finally, I had accepted my heart. Finally, I had accepted that what I felt for Isarae was not something I could deny, and I had in turn given myself to her only to find that I had done so far too late.

“You can’t…” I choked on the words before I could get them out. “Can’t you do anything? C-Can’t I?”

“Were there a way… to spend a lifetime with you… my Alessa,” Isarae said fondly as she reached a hand up weakly to stroke my cheek, “I would do so… in an instant.”

Her skin, normally a rich, pale alabaster, was now pallid with sickness. There was no strength in her grip or in any of her limbs, and for someone who had once been able to challenge a horde of Greenskin barbarians alone and slaughter them untouched, it was almost inconceivable.

Isarae’s sunrise hair was pooled limply across my legs and around her, and her chest rose and fell more weakly with every breath.

“Why now?” I ran my fingers along her face, desperate to feel the life within her while it was still there. “Why…? You were fine moments ago.”

“I burned… too bright,” Isarae said with a wan smile. “Loved too fiercely… too deeply… I told you… Aeldari souls burn… in the warp.”

“Y-You mean I-?!”

“No,” Isarae shook her head, inasmuch as she could, frowning as she took my hand and squeezed it with what little strength remained to her. “I was dying… all this time… I _chose_ this, _Cre’yth._ ”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because… I love you…” Isarae replied, and it seemed to me that she barely had the strength to smile. “I was dying… and I wanted… to love you… before the end.”

Every word came with labor and pain, and I was crying in earnest as she spoke. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I rocked back and forth, weeping as I held pulled her up until she was resting against me. Her head lolled against my shoulder, and for a moment the only way I knew Isarae was still alive was the faint susurration of her breathing as I cradled her still form in my arms.

“You can’t,” I pressed my lips to her cooling forehead. “You cannot die, ‘Rae… not now that I’ve finally found you.”

“I am… grateful,” Isarae whispered, and I hated that it was probably as loud as she was capable of. “You made… my last days… so very bright.”

“Stop it!” I clutched her close as I sobbed the words out. “Stop talking like that! You saved me! There must be a way to save you, too!”

She shook her head, raising her arm with what must have been a colossal effort to lay her hand over mine, and smiled.

I had no words for this pain.

There was no reply to this unassailable grief that cut my heart in the moment of that smile. It was the smile of a dying immortal… a smile that was both infinitely weary and infinitely bright because she was in love. Isarae’s lips were thin, chapped, and pale from lack of bloodflow, and she was so weak she could barely curve her lips to make the expression, but it was there all the same.

“I am happy… Alessa,” Isarae said softly. “You have made me… happy… and I do not recall… the last time… that was so.”

“You make me happy, too,” I cried. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can _be_ happy without you anymore.”

Isarae shivered in my arms, and I felt her go limp against me. For a single, horrifying moment, I thought she had gone right there, but then her heartbeat thudded, and her breath rattled, and to my immense relief I realised she had just suffered a bout of weakness. She was still with me, still gripping on to life with what little strength she had.

“You will be…” Isarae promised me.

“How?” I buried my face in her hair, dampening the red locks with tears. “How can you know?”

She chuckled, and it was a faint and delicate noise.

“Because the Emperor protects?” She offered, almost in jest, and I let out a weak, brittle laugh.

The Emperor protects?

For so long that simple phrase had been a keystone of my life. It was the first thing I heard most mornings and the last words on my lips during prayers in the evening. It was an offering and a greeting, a benediction, and a farewell, and now?

Obscene.

It simply felt obscene.

The Emperor Protects?

Whom does He protect? Certainly not my sisters, who were slain before they could do more than set foot upon this world. Not Sister Superior Kalion who devoted better than half a century of loyal service to him, nor Sister Yu who had not yet earned her first battle honor before she was callously cut down.

He did not protect Attica, who personally sent the blighted soul of a Dark Champion screaming back into the unkind arms of their warped master.

He did not protect Mikasa, who hand-copied hundreds of holy works that otherwise would have been lost during the Tambol Rebellions

Did He even protect me? Was it the God-Emperor, or was it Isarae?

“Why?” I hugged Isarae tighter. “Why could he not protect you?”

“You know why…” her voice was barely a whisper. “I am… Druchi.”

“But you are good!” My tears fell freely across her as I stroked her arms and kissed her forehead, trying to keep her warmth with me for just a little bit longer. “You are worthy of being saved so why does He not-!”

My words died on my tongue as a notion occurred to me, one that was perhaps even more heretical than all of my previous thoughts combined. It was a thought that would have had me in chains at the mere mention of it to another of the Imperial Creed.

Why does the God-Emperor protect me?

The Cardinals of the Ecclesiarchy would have given me the simplest answer; it is because the God-Emperor loves all martyrs, and because I have prayed to him, and invoked His name, and begged His guidance and protection.

In short: because I _asked._

But who would dare to ask the Emperor to protect the soul of a xenobreed warrioress.

Except I already had. Cycles ago when I had prayed to the Emperor in desperation in this very room I had dared to beg the Emperor for his mercy and grace to protect Isarae, in spite of knowing it was impossible.

But through the God-Emperor, are all things not possible?

“Hold on!”

I shifted and struggled out of the sheets, hefting Isarae into my arms and dragging one of the blankets with me as I did. It wasn’t hard to carry both, she was so damnably light… I hated how frail Isarae felt in my grip, and I knew that every second took more of her away from me and brought her closer to the maw of the one she called the ‘Great Serpent’.

“Alessa, what are you…?” Isarae trembled as I brought her into the den of the quarters we shared. It was cold, and she must have been freezing.

“Everything will be alright, my love,” I promised her as I brought her outside onto the balcony where the rain was falling in torrential waves.

In the distance, though, I could see it.

The Imperial Eagle. 

The great Twin-Headed Aquila that rose above the poison smog of the hive in the distance, and where I knew marked the heights of the holy Priory of Gardens.

Carefully, I knelt and laid her down, wrapped her in the blanket, and then crawled over to the disparate pieces of sanctified armour I had taken from the chapel. They laid scattered across the balcony where I had peeled them off of my body in the aftermath of my sins, but now… now I needed them.

Or at least, I needed part of them.

“God-Emperor on Holy Terra, forgive your prodigal daughter,” I whispered as I picked up the cuirass.

It was heavy in my hands, and the polished eagle on the breastplate gleamed in the dim light of the rainsoaked night. I took some comfort from that shine, it seemed to me that no matter what I did… I could not tarnish its light, no one could, for the light of the God-Emperor was purer than anything else.

I clutched it to my chest, ignoring the freezing chill of the metal and the way the hard edges bit into my bare skin.

“God-Emperor, hear my plea,” I began softly. “Though I have sinned, though I am unclean, I come to you in humble contrition now to beg of thee… take pity on your selfish daughter.”

Turning to Isarae, I laid the cuirass over her covered chest, the Aquila facing up towards the sky, then moved around to cradle her head in my lap.

“W-What… are you… doing?” Isarae croaked.

“I am asking for help,” I replied quietly. “As you said… the Emperor Protects.”

Before she could question me, I raised my head to the sky, letting the water fall across my face as I raised my hands to the sky.

“God-Emperor full of grace, I beseech thee, look upon thy daughter with love and hear her cry,” I intoned, and I felt my heart swell as I raised my spirit in faith and prayer. “Thy love is eternal, thy grace unending, thy will indomitable, and as I praise thy worthy name, I beg thee let thy gaze linger upon this faithless child a moment, and grant her audience before thy Golden Throne.”

“Alessa… d-dont-” 

I ignored Isarae’s protests and sang a clear, clarion note, raising my voice in hymnal praise to Him on Earth before lowering my hands to either side of Isarae’s face, cradling her cooling cheeks.

“Oh God-Emperor,” I wept as I spoke, my voice wet with tears as I bowed my head. “I know I have fallen, and my faith has faltered, and though I be not worthy of thy gaze I beg of thee, look upon me with fondness, for I am still thy daughter, and my love for thee, oh Father of Mankind, has never shifted.”

Again I raised my head to the skies and began my true plea.

“I have sinned!” I cried out into the darkness. “I have fallen, I have faltered, but I beg thee! FATHER! Pity thy daughter and grant her this single wish… oh Father on Terra, lay thy holy gaze upon this child of the stars, this daughter of distant worlds, and know her name as Isarae of the Aeldari!”

My tears mixed with the rain of this wretched world, and I could feel the faint chemical burn of the water as it crossed my cheeks, but I ignored it. There was nothing in this world that could save Isarae now, but by the grace of the God-Emperor anything was possible… the dead could be returned to life, the weak could be made strong, and by His light perhaps even the soul of a xeno could be saved.

“Her heart knows love! And her soul knows nobility!” I pleaded into the darkness of the void. “Though her hands be stained, by those same hands your daughter was saved, your gifts protected, and your world defended! And now the dark encroaches! The shadow of Chaos descends, and I beg of thee, Father! Do not let her pass into the maw of the Great Serpent! By thy ravening grace I _beg of you!_ ”

My words were cracking under the strain of my grief, but I did not lower my head. I stared up into the clouded skies and poured myself out to Him, and this time I refused to allow my faith to falter.

“Please, Father… please,” I sobbed. “I love her, Father, do not let her be consumed, do not let the Enemy win this noble soul from your hands… _please!_ ”

My words faded into a silence that was broken only by the rainfall, and after a moment, I felt Isarae’s hand on my cheek, and somehow it was colder than the rain.

“He will not… answer…” Isarae said softly. “He loves you… but I… am Druchi.”

“I don’t care,” I cried, still refusing to lower my head. “I am a daughter of the God-Emperor and he is my Father, and he _loves me._ ”

“But he has… no love… for me,” she said wanly. “I have sinned… for millennia… without grief.”

“I don’t care,” I repeated. “You’re mine, and I will not release you.”

The rain burned against my skin, and after a moment I heard Isarae start to chuckle weakly again, her breath rattling in her chest.

“How odd…” she breathed. “I have never… been sorry… for my actions,” her words devolved into wracking coughs and every heave of her lungs sent sympathetic pain through me but, thankfully, she mastered herself and continued. “Yet now… I _am_ sorry…”

I blinked in surprise at those words, mostly because it sounded as if she truly meant them, and I looked down at her with wide eyes.

Isarae was smiling up at me, barely conscious and quickly fading, she was still smiling as she twined her fingers with my grasping my hand despite her weakness.

“I am sorry… that I robbed you… of us…” Isarae breathed, and I saw tears slip down her cheeks. “Forgive me… Alessa… f-forgive… me…”

I sniffled, wiping my face as I caressed her cheek lovingly.

“Don’t ask me,” I replied, trying to smile for her but not quite managing it. “I’ll always forgive you, ‘Rae.” I raised my head to the skies again and closed my eyes. “Ask _Him._ ”

I could feel disbelief coming off of her in waves, but after a moment she let out a weak, crackling sigh, and chuckled quietly.

“Well… I suppose… I may as well,” Isarae squeezed my hand gently. “How… how does it go?”

“Just say you’re sorry,” I said softly.

I heard and felt her swallow hard, then take a deep breath that seemed to make her ribs creak under the strain and, beneath my fingers, I felt her relax as Isarae parted her lips to pray for what I imagined would be the first time in her life.

“God-Emperor of Mankind…” Isarae began in a frail voice. “Forgive me… for I… have harmed… thy daughter… whom I love… above all.” Her weary voice began to crack, not with weakness this time but with grief. “Father of Man… I am sorry… f-forgive me… and though I know… you have no love… for my breed… I love… your daughter.”

Another breath, raspy and pained.

“Forgive me… and if need be… forgive _her._ ”

A sob escaped my lips as Isarae pleaded for my own redemption on the heels of her own.

“Father, do you hear her?” I opened my eyes again. “Father!”

Silence… yet more silence, and weak wracking sobs began to leave me as I lowered my head, pleading words on my lips as I cradled Isarae and felt her fading further.

“Father…” I bit my lip, feeling anger and passion surge into my chest as I raised my head. If He could not hear me now, then I would shout all the louder until He could hear me from the Golden Throne itself.

“FATHER!” I bellowed. “FATHER!”

_CRACK-THOOM_

The skies split with golden lightning and all around us the world exploded in thunder that shattered the armourglass of the spires, shook the towering edifices to their bones. Whole sections of the hive caved beneath the sudden detonation of psychic might and the impossible sensation that was hammering down upon my shoulders and bending my neck with its weight.

It was nothing physical, yet it was as unyielding as if the Imperial Palace had been set upon my back… it was the weight of something ancient and unspeakably powerful turning its gaze upon me and burying my soul under the sheer might of its regard.

With my head bowed, I could see it, the cuirass resting over Isarae’s chest was burning with corpusant light, like golden flames that only warmed and did not consume. It was a light I have known all my life, short though it may be, even if I had never seen it, and never expected to see it in truth.

To see the light of the God-Emperor Himself, after all, was the remit of miracles.


	25. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Succubus is made anew.

I was blinded.

My senses were burning with psychic overload, my eyes seared by light, my ears deafened by the thunder of an impossible heartbeat. It was like I had been thrown into the core of a dying star, surrounded by the psychic scream of an impossible sentience.

Was this the reason?

Was this why my kind had always failed to push back against the _Mon-Keigh?_

This mind.

This _soul._

Neither dead nor alive, and somehow more than both. Its sheer presence was an eternal roar that split the torment of the warp to be heard from the lonely world that Alessa named Holy Terra, to this sieged and tainted planet, and far, far beyond.

How?

_How?!_

How could a race as fleeting as humanity produce a being so utterly and blindingly luminous?

“Can you feel Him?” Alessa’s voice carved through the psychic scream like a cold blade of relief. “He heard me… He heard _us_ , Isarae!”

Her voice was high with ecstatic glee, and as I opened my eyes I found to my shock that I wasn’t fading as I had been before. I wasn’t vital or strong but the teeth that had been gnawing at the edges of my soul had been forced away by the sheer magnitude of Alessa’s God-Emperor.

“Impossible,” the words fell from my lips as I stared at the churning storm above us. “This… this is impossible.”

Alessa’s face was raised to the skies, where golden light was spilling from between the cascading thunderheads. Lightning the color of scorched bronze and amber lept between the clouds to strike spires and split them like ancient trees. 

“Oh God-Emperor, divine and perfect!” Alessa cried out, arms outstretched and hands raised in worship. “Your daughter kneels humbly at thy feet!”

I cannot say I am familiar with the notion of fear. For so many millennia I have existed beyond its reach, but here and now, beneath the gaze of something that outweighs me in both age and power by so many orders of magnitude I cannot even fathom it…

I am _afraid._

“God-Emperor who is grace! God-Emperor who is mighty!” Alessandra bellowed her praises to the sky with the fervor of a true believer. “Your daughter begs thee, though it be not thy creed nor command, please! Father, please! Spare my love from the maw of disaster! Spare her from the jaws of Chaos and death!”

My limbs trembled in a manner that had nothing to do with the weakness of my body. The shake of my arms and legs, and the loose clench of my bowels was born of nothing short of sheer, primordial terror.

I could feel it… feel _Him_ bearing down upon me. In a way I almost wished it was She Who Thirsts because at least that being was something I understood to an extent. I knew where I stood with the apocalypse of my people, but this being, this soul was truly…

Alien.

Another bass boom of psychic will split the skies, thunder with the depth of the void cracked the rockcrete foundations of the nearby spires, and on its heels, the skies peeled apart with aching slowness of an opening iris and a pillar of light, pure and gold as maiden dawn, enveloped both of us.

Alessa lowered her hands to my face again, cradling my cheeks as she stared up into the light.

“Praise Him, Isarae,” she whispered softly. “Praise Him, for He is the God-Emperor of Mankind, and His eyes are upon you.”

That final notion, more than anything, was terrifying.

The whole of me: body, mind, and soul, felt as though it were being painlessly flensed open to be examined, judged, and analysed. 

“God-Emperor” Alessa began again. “I know that she has sinned,” tears began falling from her face again as she spoke, “I know that I have sinned… but I beg of thee, whatever you must take from me, whatever you ask of me, it is yours! But spare her from the begetting of daemons! Spare her from- _AH!_ ”

Her final words cut off as she went rigid, and psychic light erupted from her eyes and mouth.

“Alessa!” I reached out weakly, but as I did a weight fell upon my, pressing me down, pushing me back, as if to say ‘ _Stop… do not interfere._ ’

“O-Oh… Isarae…” Her voice came echoing through the onslaught of power that was rising up from her, and her tone was tinged with horror. “I see it… I… I see it!”

I had only the briefest moment to wonder what it was she was seeing that had made her voice so ragged when something like psychic hammer descended on me, bludgeoning me insensible, and then digging itself deep into the caverns of my soul to dredge me up and out of my body.

It was like a fist of burning ice had taken hold of my sternum, laced its fingers twixt my ribs, gripped, then ripped upward as if it were trying to pull the bones from my flesh.

The pain was blinding and deafening all at once, but it lasted all of a moment before my senses returned and I found myself staring up, not at the storm now, but at… myself.

Or rather, it was a cracked mirror of myself; the woman that hung on tenterhooks of psychic will above me was withered, ancient, and poisoned by ages of excess and evil. She was a hag… a witch, no less than Alessandra and her Sisters had first accused me of.

She was a horror.

“ _Isarae…_ ”

Alessa’s pleading voice tore me from the vision in front of me, and I angled my head up further to look at her.

There was an unspeakable strain to her face. Alessa’s features, normally so soft and gentle, were stretched to a tight rictus of revulsion. Her eyes had flown unblinkingly wide, and her mouth hung open as she stared into nothingness while golden light poured from her emerald eyes.

“Oh… God-Emperor… I understand,” Alessa hiccupped, and her hands drew up to cover her mouth in an expression of pure horror. “I understand… oh, Isarae… your people… I see them, _I see all of them._ ”

A weight formed like heavy rime around my heart as I understood what it was she was being shown. Her God-Emperor, impossibly, was showing Alessa the true nature of my kind’s curse and with it, I could only presume, the nature of our sin.

“What have you done…” Alessa spoke through rigid fingers and white knuckles as she stared outward. “Evil… your kind birthed pure, _incalculable evil._ ”

“We didn’t know,” I sobbed. “It means nothing to the trillions we have damned but please… Alessa… we didn’t know.”

“The Eye, oh Isarae, the Eye…” Alessa spoke with such horror that it caused me physical pain. How could she possibly look at me after this? After seeing what my kind is guilty of? 

“No, it’s no eye…” she continued in a drawn whisper. “It’s an eternal scream, the wound of a shrieking, undying mother as her venomous child eats its way out of her… a festering, hemorrhagic sore of unspeakable horror.”

I tried to blot out her mutterings. I closed my eyes, tried to stop up my ears. I tried to fill my mind with images of how she looked at me last, with eyes full of love and longing, with desperate hope and pure compassion. I wanted to remember her like that because how, _how?_ How could she look upon me with anything but disgust, knowing the truth of my Druchi Thirst?

How could she possibly still love me?

“Sin, sin, sin!” Alessa was cradling herself now, rocking forward and back as she made odd gulping sounds that I thought were her effort to keep from voiding her own guts. “Impossible sin. Unforgivable sin!”

She wasn’t wrong.

With the ravaging of the old Aeldarii Empire, our golden age ended and the age of She Who Thirsts came upon us. In an instant, we damned every one of our own kind and innumerable others, possibly the whole of the galaxy, when our psychic hedonism congealed to give birth to the Prince of Excess.

The Doom of the Aeldarii.

The Chaos God Slaanesh.

For a moment, I hated Him. The God-Emperor could have let me die, He could have permitted me that much and allowed Alessa to grieve for the memory of me, but now… now he was tearing her mind to pieces by showing her sights no mortal should be subject to.

Not even a Drukhari mind, hardened by millennia of horror, could see such sights without being scoured.

“Isarae,” Alessa’s voice was small and haunted, and I forced my eyes open. Whatever the look upon her face, I would endure it, because it was no less than I deserved. 

“I saw them…” 

She spoke with quiet dread as her hands fell from her face. The golden light had gone from her eyes, and they were closed now, perhaps trying to shut out the images that had been forced upon her by her cruel God-Emperor.

“Oh… God-Emperor… I saw It born,” she continued, and I flinched, shutting my eyes again, this time in shame. “I saw golden spires turn to black ash… I saw screams turn to shrieking daemons in the mouths of millions, saw silver souls fall into the endless, laughing dark… Oh, Isarae… I saw what you did.”

“I’m sorry,” tears, hot and painful, spilled down my cheeks. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Alessa… I-”

“And I forgive you.”

My voice died stillborn in my throat.

“You can’t.”

I’m not sure why I said that, except that it was the only thing I could think of to say at all, and perhaps because it was true.

Unforgivable. Unspeakable. My kind had committed acts so vile that reality’s only measure was to vomit forth a dark god in reply.

“I can,” Alessa spoke in a hushed whisper, her eyes still screwed shut against the onslaught of visions. I wondered if she was still seeing them, even now. “I can forgive… I can _choose_ to forgive you, Isarae.”

“It is not your burden to lift, _Cre’yth._ ” Why couldn’t I just accept her words? It would be easier, it would be better to allow it, but… it felt wrong. “And even if it were,” I continued, “it would not be enough to lift a thousand lifetimes of ruin.”

Rather than reply, Allessa brought her hands back down to rest on my cheeks.

It was not as comfortable or as certain as it had been before this, but she did it, even if her hands were shaking as she touched my skin, as if she expected there to be some slick of oil there waiting for her, and if there had been I would not have been surprised. Still, though, her thumb traced along the line of my cheek with that familiar fondness that she always touched me with, and in that moment I felt unworthy.

All around us the storm of light persisted as I stared up at the hateful facsimile of my soul that still hung above me. Her face was twisted in an expression of low, ugly hatred, and I took some small comfort in the fact that I found her disgusting to look upon. 

She was me, and I was utterly, _utterly revolted._

“I love you, ‘Rae,” Alessa sobbed. “And I forgive you, because you are not who you were… you are better.”

“You cannot know that,” I croaked. “You cannot know.”

“And yet,” Alessa spoke with quiet conviction, the shake of her voice steadying for the first time since this impossibility began, “I still have faith.”

She raised her head again, and spoke into the storm.

“God-Emperor, Thou who love’st all martyrs,” Alessa intoned. “I give to thee the soul of an Eldar who would have died for her love of me, who stood before bolter and blade and, in faith, laid herself bare before them.” 

A burning sensation crept along my limbs, and the specter above me began to thrash violently. 

“Oh God-Emperor, whose mercy extends from Holy Terra across the galaxy to encompass all of mankind in thy embrace,” Alessa’s voice rose to a crescendo, and her cries echoed the beat of the thunder above us. “I beg of thee to spare but the meanest sliver of that mercy for she whom I love, and who loves me, if she would but accept your hand upon her soul.”

In that instant, every inch of my skin erupted into pure, blistering agony.

My back arched as I screamed, and pain like nothing I had ever endured seared through my veins, blistering and devouring muscle and bone. I felt my throat split, and blood fill my mouth as I screamed and screamed and screamed.

And through it all, Alessa held me.

“Endure it, Isarae!” She cried. “Endure the agony! Blessed are those who suffer! For blessed is He who suffers for _us!_ ” 

I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t say anything. My mind was blitzed by white, excoriating light. My whole body felt like it was being burnt away a hairsbreadth at a time, bit by bit, and I could feel every single moment of it! I could not breath, could not see or sense anything but Alessa’s touch, her voice, and the sheer, bloody pain that had become my existence.

“Endure this my love!” 

Alessa’s blessedly cool lips pressed to my forehead between her words, and I sobbed at the bare instants of relief they granted, even as I hated them the moment they were gone.

“I… _CAN’T!_ ” I bit the words out through the madness of agony. “K-Kill me… _please!_ ”

“You can, Isarae!” Alessa bellowed. “Endure the wrath of His mercy! Endure the vengeance of His love! And I will be here for every moment!”

“ _Ple~ase…_ ” My voice was a hiss of plaintive air. “I c-cannot…”

“Do you love me?” Alessa whispered, and I heard it even through the storm that raged in my bones. “Isarae… do you love me?”

I worked my jaw around the electric anguish that kept every muscle and tendon taut. Not even the wrath of a God would keep me silent against that question.

“N-Now… and f-forever… m-my Alessa.”

“THEN ENDURE!” Alessa commanded against the endless roar that had become my existence.

I screamed again, this time in defiance, my mouth filling with the taste of copper and bile. I forced my eyes open again, and I focused my hate, my pain, and every ounce of my rage into a glare aimed up at the poisoned soul that hung thrashing and raging above me.

I hated it.

Hated _her._

She had stolen my life from me; she was everything that was eating away at the soul of my race, everything that had toppled the towers of the Aeldarii Empire. She was excess and spite, depravity and degeneracy.

And although I could not deny that she was me, I could choose, here and now, that I would never again be her.

I could choose to do better.

To _be_ better.

I could choose my Alessandra.

My scream tore through the storm of the sky, and brazen-amber lightning carved furrows through the black thunderheads above.

One after another, rapid-fire like rounds of a splinter cannon spitting a harrowing storm over a stellar battlefield.

A battlefield.

My breath froze in my lungs as I stared up at the sky and for a moment the blitz of pain was forgotten as I realised that a _battlefield_ was exactly what I was looking at. The crashes of lightning and fire, the darkness, the damnation and torment all around us.

It was the material reflection of a psychic war playing out in the Sea of Souls.

A war between purity and corruption. Between orthodox and excess… a war between the light of Alessa’s divine God-Emperor and the shadow of the Prince of Excess _itself._

“Can you feel Him fighting, my love?” Alessa's voice was a harsh, rasping whisper in the torrential rain. She asked as if she already knew the answer, as if she knew that I had realised what I was seeing.

“Can you feel His love?”

I could.

Just as I could feel the endless cataclysm that rolled through the Empyrean in waves as Alessa’s God-Emperor cast Himself against the Doom of the Aeldarii, pitting his ravenous golden light against the endless hunger of She Who Thirsts, and what’s more?

He was _winning._

Pain ravaged me, endless and unfaded. Every wave was as agonising as the last, if not more, and through it all Alessa cradled me, urging me to endure the punishment out of love for her.

And I would

I would endure _anything_ for her. She had suffered to look upon the soul of my whole damned species, and worse she had looked upon _mine_ , and despite what she must have seen in those harrowing moments… she had forgiven me. She had forgiven me for the unspeakable sins that stained not only my species, but those specific to me.

All because she had faith that I could be better.

So I screamed and I thrashed as my nerves burned and my soul blazed beneath my skin. I cursed in every tongue I knew, every invective in the tongues of Aeldar, Ork, and Mankind flowed from my lips as the world ruptured and bled above me.

Until finally… blessedly… there was silence.

My body felt like a livewire exposed to air, and sweat soaked every inch of me. I couldn’t move… could barely breathe… but I was alive.

“Isarae?”

I took a deep breath, swallowed, and pushed my reply past a throat torn by screams and lips split by effort.

“I am here, Alessa…” I replied. “I… I’m here.”

Her sigh of relief flowed out of her and into me as her hands came back to rest on my cheeks, and her thumbs traced my face with that loving familiarity I craved from her. I would _always_ crave her touch, I knew that without a shadow of a doubt, just as I knew that she would forever need mine.

“Can you see it, my love?” Her voice was wet with happy tears. “I can… Oh, Isarae… I can see you… you’re so _beautiful._ ”

I took another deep breath before forcing my eyes open. The specter of my soul was gone, and the sky above us had a hole torn in it. I could see the stars twinkling brightly, and a sliver of the moon. The celestial war that had been waged over my unworthy soul had spent the fury of the storm in this part of Amphitria, opening an eye of calm above us.

But I could not see whatever it was Alessa was seeing.

“What do you mean?” I turned my head up to see Alessa staring into the sky with a rapturous smile on her face.

“Your soul, ‘Rae,” she replied softly. “It’s like a newborn star… a beacon of pure, clean light.”

“Impossible,” I muttered the word before I could think. “Alessa… I am tainted… I’m-”

I began to argue that I’m cursed, but as I do I realised something that stole the words from my tongue.

I was not hungry.

Nor was I thirsty.

My Druchi thirst isn’t just sated and filled from the outpouring of psychic power that I had just endured. It wasn’t just suppressed or locked away.

It was _gone._

My curse, the mark on my soul that was forever siphoning my vital essence out of me and into the warp, had been seared away by the light of Alessa’s God-Emperor. He had clashed against the Prince of Excess, battled the Chaos God of Pleasure for my soul, and He had _won._

I was free.

A hiccup escaped my lips, followed by a sob relief that became a bawling cascade of tears as I allowed myself to fully and truly feel for the first time in my life. I curled against Alessa as she pulled me tight to her and buried my face against her chest, clinging to her as my emotions that had been tamped down so deeply as to never been seen by the hungering dark of the warp came welling out.

“It’s alright,” Alessa cooed gently. “ You are under His aegis now, my love. You are protected, now and forever, by the wings of the Aquila, for no shadow can reach you so long as you remain bathed in the light of the Golden Throne.”

I thanked her, I think… though I can’t recall precisely how. Words bubbled out of me, promises of love and devotion, although I’m not certain any of it was in Gothic. All I know is that, in that moment, I felt something I had never before had cause to look for in myself. A kind of strange, upswell of light and desire that was free of anything fleshly.

Faith, I think.

Yes, I think I felt… faith.

“Pray with me, Isarae,” Alessa said as she pulled back with her eyes closed, and then pressed her forehead to mine. “Pray to Him on Earth.”

“What do I say?” I asked in a croaking plea. “I… I cannot… what can I say?”

“The God-Emperor loves _all martyrs_ , Isarae,” she replied with a smile, “and you were prepared to die for His daughter… no, more than die, to cease.” She raised her head from mine and pressed her lips to my forehead again. “So now, he loves you too.”

I do not know the ritual tongue of the Mon-Keigh, or High Gothic as Alessandra calls it, but she teaches me the words and their meaning, and leads me through a short prayer of gratitude. To my surprise, I find myself meaning each and every word that comes out of my mouth as I give Him thanks for saving me, for preserving me from the hunger of She Who Thirsts, and for taking my soul beneath his wing.

“How do you feel?” Alessa asked as we finished praying and I rested against her, shivering a little in the cold, rain-soaked air.

“Good,” I replied, then chuckled. “I… it is a strange feeling, and one I do not know that I recognise entirely, but… I think I feel _good._ ”

“Then it was all worth it,” Alessa spoke with a smile, and then slowly rose to her feet, pulling me along with her. “Now, ah… I think we should return to bed… I’m not sure how much longer I can stand.”

I laughed quietly as my own legs shook and trembled under my weight, but held once I steadied myself. “I am unopposed to that, _Cre’yth_ ,” I say with a smile.

“Will you help me?” she asked as if she needed the aid, and I furrowed my brow at her as she looped her arms around one of mine.

And a terrible notion occurred to me as I looked at her.

Alessa still hadn’t opened her eyes.

“Alessandra, my love?” I hated how my voice trembled, and something in the smile she gave me broke my heart anew.

“Yes, ‘Rae?”

“Would you… would you please open your eyes?” My voice cracked as I begged her, and her lips turned down to a gentle frown.

Then she nodded, looked in my direction, and opened her eyes to reveal two pale, milky orbs of white.


	26. Reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Sister of Battle sees light.

I was blinded.

Well, not _entirely_ , but for all intents and purposes, I was blinded. My eyes no longer functioned. The world was shrouded in a cloak of darkness, blotted out by the visions granted to me by Him on Earth in exchange for Isarae’s soul.

An exchange I would make a thousand plus a thousand times over.

Not that Isarae was particularly pleased with it.

“Alessa, _why?!_ ” The broken sorrow in Isarae’s voice pulled at my heart, but I stood fast even as I leaned against her.

“The God-Emperor spoke unto me and said that, to save your soul, I must see that which cannot be unseen,” I explained quietly as I pressed against my lover. “I knew what I was giving up, ‘Rae, I knew that if I was granted sight beyond sight, that I would never see _my_ world again.”

“But-!”

“I would trade my eyes for your soul at any hour or day, Isarae,” I said sternly, cutting off her further protest. “Would you not give the same for me?”

I heard her swallow, then sigh. “Yes… of course I would… I would give anything to protect you, Alessa.”

“Then do not admonish me for doing the same,” I replied more gently. “Besides, my blindness is not total.”

“What do you mean?” Isarae’s voice was hopeful as she cradled me against her and led me into our quarters. A few stubbed toes on my end, though, prompted her to simply pick me up and carry me.

I wrapped my arms around her neck and shoulders as she hefted me, bridal style, and pulled me close, and I buried my face against her neck and breathed deeply before replying.

“I can… perceive,” I began quietly. “It is not sight, precisely. I can see your soul like it’s a bonfire in the dark, and its light cascades over the world, casting everything else in shadow.”

“Psychic perceptions?” Isarae muttered. “You see the world illuminated by the light of the soul's fire, then?”

“I suppose so,” I shivered at the idea.

It may have been a gift from the God-Emperor, but it sounded too much like psyker witchery for me to be fully comfortable with it. That and the fact that I could not ‘shut my eyes’, for lack of a better term, was making me increasingly uneasy.

Isarae clutched me more tightly to her as I shivered, and I sighed quietly at how pleasant it felt to be carried like this. Isarae has always been so much stronger than I, and now I could allow myself to fully appreciate how safe that made me feel.

“Am I bright?” Isarae asked gently, and I nodded as I pressed my lips to her neck, and savored her quiet moan.

“You are, but not blinding,” I replied. “You cast light, but when I look on you all I feel is warmth.”

Isarae lowered me suddenly, and I had to hold in a yelp of panic before I felt the bedclothes beneath me and relaxed.

As ever, though, she was careful with me. I felt her move the comforter out from under me, and then the sheets, and only for them to be laid over again. I sighed quietly in relief as they covered me, I had not realised how cold I was until that moment, and a terrible shiver set up and down my limbs as I grappled with the sheets and tugged them as tightly around me as I could.

“Be still, _Cre’yth,_ ” Isarae said with all the care in the galaxy.

I watched as she turned away, her light drifting further from me, and drawing out a whine of displeasure. I heard her chuckle softly as she reached the far wall near the closets, and her light illuminated a bundle of something that she was pulling from one of the upper shelves. 

She was beautiful, as always, only more so now. Her every feature was starkly outlined in golden-white light, although some of the finer details were lost in the shimmer and shift of it all.

Isarae was by my side a moment later, throwing yet another pair of blankets over me, one to replace the one I’d used for her that had become undoubtedly sodden after being outside in the storm, and the other just to keep me a little bit warmer.

“Better?” Isarae asked as her fingers brushed along my forehead, and I nodded, suddenly feeling horribly exhausted.

“B-Better,” I yawned, and I felt more than saw her smile.

Then she knelt, moved some of the covers aside, and slipped in beneath them to curl around me. Her warmth sunk into me and I instinctively curled closer to her, seeking the source of that warmth against my skin.

Isarae pressed her lips to my cheek as I nuzzled against her and kissed her back as her lips brushed up to my ear, then down to my neck, and she proceeded to lavish slow kisses all across my face until she finally found my mouth as her legs tangled around mine, locking me in place beside her.

I’m not sure why, but that broke something in me.

Something about being safe and warm and, above all, loved and lying beneath the blankets in the arms of the woman I loved best in all the galaxy, took the iron out of me. I think I might have resisted that feeling once, but not now… in Isarae’s arms as I allowed myself to be weak, I began to very quietly, and very softly, cry.

Isarae didn’t ask why I was crying, she just cradled and rocked me in her arms. Even had she asked I’m not certain I would have had an answer. I think I was just so tired, and worn so very thin, that now that it was all over all I wanted to do was let myself fall apart.

Because I knew without a doubt that Isarae would be there to put me back together again.

“Sleep, my darling Alessa,” Isarae murmured. “I shall watch over you this night and for all the nights to come,” her breath was hot against my ear as I shuddered through another wave of unnamed grief, and a small sob escaped my lips as I hugged her tight. 

“Let your tears flow, my beloved,” she continued, “let them out, and then let dreams take you…” her lips brushed under one eye, then the other. “Sleep and know that I shall be thy eyes, and thy strong arm, and thy sharpened blade, and that I shall love you for all the time left to this body and beyond.”

“I love you, Isarae,” I sobbed. “Please… stay with me.”

“Always, _Cre’yth,_ ” she whispered, and she punctuated her words with a press of her soft lips against mine. “Now and always.”

* * *

I slept then.

Not for minutes or hours, but for cycles.

I remember drifting in and out of sleep, and I remember sweating and panting as fever took me. I remember Isarae’s gold-bright presence holding me and tending to me, waiting on my every need.

She fed me when I was too weak to eat, mashing rations mixed with a little water, and feeding it to me bit by bit. She coaxed water down my dry throat, carried me to the bath where she cleaned me, and then laid down beside me every night.

Isarae sang to me _every night._

It should have been shameful to be treated like an invalid, but somehow I could not muster the strength to feel even that.

All I could feel was gratitude.

Most incredibly, I remember what happened on what I tentatively believe to be my fourth night in fever. It was hard to tell because so often I would pass out and then awaken, sometimes moments had passed, other times hours, and I could not keep myself coherent enough for a conversation.

That night I was resting against Isarae’s naked form, her softness and warmth bringing me uncountable comfort. I was exhausted but not tired, if that makes any sense. I had slept through much of the day, and the cool night wind felt good on my brow. 

As we laid together, I felt more than saw her shift. My perception angled onto her, and her golden light reached down past the edge of the bed and picked something up.

A book.

“Are you going to read me a story?” I asked weakly, and I laughed because for some reason I found that notion quite funny.

“Something like that,” Isarae replied, and I fell in love with that gentle accent of hers all over again. The fever may have had something to do with that.

Slowly and reverently, Isarae opened the book, and as she did I realised with a small pang of anguish that I could not see any of the words on the page. The definition of the light cast from Isarae was enough to show me the body of the tome, but nothing more. In that sense, and a few others, I was truly blind, although my understanding was that there was a kind of tactile language certain priests used who eschewed implants.

Perhaps I would ask after that one day, and until then I had Isarae.

I watched as her deft fingers, like shimmering digits of sunlight, peeled open the cover, flattened the first page, and then held it steady as she cleared her throat.

“Rejoice, O’ children, for God walks among us,” Isarae began, and I felt my heart swell almost to bursting in an instant. “The Light stands before us, and the Way is made open to us all…”

She wasn’t reading just any book. She was reading a book from my personal effects. Isarae was reading to me from the Primer Ecclesiasticus; the Holy Word of the Imperial Creed. 

“...for the Emperor of Mankind is the Light, and the Emperor of Mankind is the Way,” she continued, and the genuine care and soft awe in her voice told me she was feeling the words as much as speaking them, “and all of His actions are for the benefit of Mankind, which is His people.”

“The Emperor is God and God is the Emperor,” I spoke the words along with her, for I knew them by heart as any good Sister of the Adeptus Sororitas would. “And so it is taught by the Imperial Creed that above all things… the Emperor Protects.”

Isarae fell silent then, and after a moment she closed the book, laid it down, and hugged me as tightly to her breast as ever she did, and I felt warm tears falling from her face onto the crown of my head.

“The Emperor Protects,” Isarae whispered softly, “and He sent me to protect you.”

“And you have,” I replied, returning her hug albeit weakly. “Will you keep reading to me?”

“For as long as you wish,” Isarae pressed a kiss to my brow, then shifted about, reopened the Primer, and found her place again.

“As the veil of Old Night lifted, by the grace of his Divine Majesty was Holy Terra united, and freed from the yoke of Chaos…”

* * *

“Alessa, _stay in bed!_ ” Isarae scowled from the bedroom door, and I wilted back against the headboard.

I learned quickly that I could tell her moods by the waxing and waning of her luminous aura. It shifted whenever she was feeling a particularly intense emotion, and there was an edge of color to her aura beyond just the gold if I looked closely.

And right now, she was upset. Not angry, just scared. She was frightened for me and it occurred to me not too long ago that she was having a hard time handling those emotions.

After all, she’s never really felt them before.

“My fever broke two cycles ago, ‘Rae,” I protested even as she moved over to me and levered me back into bed.

In her defense, I was still weak enough from my illness that I wasn’t able to put up much of a fight.

“You are blind and ravaged by both illness and psychic backlash,” Isarae said stiffly. “Your body cannot take much more of this if you do not give it time to _heal!_ ”

She knelt beside me and took my hand, gripping it and bringing her lips to my knuckles where she pressed a kiss.

“You are my everything, Alessa,” Isarae said quietly. “Let me care for you now… let me do this, at least.”

“Isarae, you don’t have to wait on me like this,” I protested even as I let her shift me back beneath the covers where, annoyingly, I found I did feel a little better.

“I wish to wait on you, Alessa,” she replied easily. “It brings me happiness to know you are cared for, will you indulge me that much?”

Well I couldn't very well say no to that. So, I sighed and nodded, and allowed her to fuss over me for a little while longer. I had to admit, it was nice to be doted on with such care. She really did love me, and it showed in every motion of her hand and every lingering touch.

With every breath and every devoted motion, I knew that Isarae _loved_ me. 

As she pulled the covers over me, Isarae eyed me with a careful look. I could only tell because of the faint edge of cold teal across her aura.

She was worried about me.

“I will heal, my love,” I assured her, “an Aeldari face was not made to fret.”

A flush crossed Isarae’s cheeks. “I am not _fretting_ , I’m worried because you’ve nearly died twice over!”

“I will live as the God-Emperor wills it,” I said with a wan smile.

She clammed up at that, but nodded stiffly before smoothing out some non-existent wrinkles on the blankets, then turning to leave the room. She was checking in on me often, but I knew that she left the spire just as much.

When I’d asked why, she’d cited the rather obvious explosion of psychic light, and told me she was patrolling. It took her longer without her jetbike, but she wanted to be certain the Orks hadn’t realised that the psychic storm had been localised. It was unlikely, but possible if they had one their rare and disgusting psyker subbreeds with them.

That was what Isarae told me, but she had been lying.

Or at least, she had been hiding the entirety of the truth. It took me a moment to realise it as she was explaining her reasoning. There was the oddest tinge of ochre around her aura as she spoke, a kind of tense, unpleasant weight that felt subtly off.

A lie, I had realised eventually. That was what it looked like when Isarae was hiding something from me. 

I thought about pressing the matter, but in the end decided not to. I decided to trust that Isarae was doing what she thought she had to, and for all I knew she was right. Most importantly, I trusted that Isarae loved me dearly, and would never do me harm, and if I held to that truth then I needed little else.

What worried me was only that _she_ was worried, because to my reckoning she was back to her full strength or near enough, and if a horde of Orks hadn’t been enough to balk her then that meant whatever she was worried over was significantly more dangerous.

So I let her patrol, and I didn’t ask her why. Isarae’s heart was in turmoil, I could see it every time I looked at her. I cannot describe precisely what it is, but I know that the emotions she feels, the depths of them, are something I cannot fathom. Between my new sight and what I witnessed at the God-Emperor’s behest, I believe I understand the Eldar far better than I did.

Before this, I knew they were a danger because the Cult Imperialis deemed it so and, as a god-fearing sister, I had no reason to question beyond that. Now, though, I know that they are far worse than any but, perhaps, the God-Emperor's Most Holy Inquisition suspects.

Each and every one of them is like a beacon in the Sea of Souls. A race of psykers, yes, but so much more… they are a race whose souls burn like endless stars in the torment of the warp and draw daemons to them like flies to a carcass wherever they go.

Only through trickery and sorcery do they evade judgment and death.

All except Isarae.

The thought of my beloved brought a smile back to my face. Isarae, my dearest, who bowed her head before the Emperor and accepted her weakness and sin, who shed her dark ways to stand beneath His wings.

Isarae no longer hides from the warp. Now she faces it with her head held high, illuminated by the light of Him on Earth. She was the first of her kind to do so, and I could not be more proud.

Of course, I do wish I could see her again properly.

I look down at my hands, or at least I think I do. It’s difficult to orient myself now. What I see, for the most part, is darkness… the light that I cast is so much thinner and more pale than Isarae’s. I can barely make out my own outline when I’m alone, but when she is with me it’s almost like I can see again.

Almost.

It’s the details I miss most though.

I miss my Isarae’s eyes most of all; her lovely, Wisteria eyes, and that gorgeous sunrise hair of hers. I wish I could see it again in more than my memories, and the worst of it is that I know even those will fade in time to be replaced with the two-tone shades of black and gold that my world has been reduced to.

Sighing, I leaned back in bed and stared up at what I had to assume was the ceiling. I couldn't see it, as the light I cast barely reached past my own fingers, but I think it safe to assume the ceiling is still there.

One would hope, anyway.

“If I have to spend another cycle in bed I will go _mad,_ ” I grumbled as I shifted around under the covers.

Psychic backlash, Isarae had called it. I suppose I understand… the few sanctioned I'd met, mostly astropaths, were all emaciated, their bodies ravaged by their own powers and left weak. I should really consider myself fortunate that I’m recovering so quickly.

“Frak it,” I moved out from under the blankets, shivered, then wrapped one of the small covers around my shoulders as I stood to leave.

It was difficult, and I knocked my knees and toes against more than a few things prompting a series of colorful curses, but eventually I made my way out to the main room. To my surprise, there was a faint luminance coming from somewhere in the room, and a bit of nosing around led to the small but tidy pile that was the Chapel Power Armour. 

“Look to your wargear,” I spoke one of the Imperial Thoughts aloud.

The blessings of the Emperor were upon the armour, and it shone with His light.

Feeling compelled, I slowly and carefully arranged the gear into its respective positions before going to the supply we’d claimed from the chapel before it was collapsed atop a crew of looting Orks.

There was light there too, coming from some of the ritual objects, although it was barely an ember compared to myself or the armour.

Soon, though, I was armed with both my tools and my copy of the Primer, and I knelt over the armour to begin clumsily working my way through the Rites of Rearmament. With oil, ash, and unguent I anointed the armor as best I was able prior to connecting each piece to the whole. It took me the better part of an hour, but once the armour was fully restored I felt significantly better.

I was filthy by then, of course, my hands were coated in the remains of my work and my arms stained with machine oils.

“A bath, then,” I decided.

I was eager to see my sisters again one day, assuming they would ever look well upon me with an Eldar at my side, even a sanctioned one, but I hoped they would understand in time. That being said, I had to admit that I would miss the lavish bath this little set of quarters possessed. It was certainly more comfortable than the cramped ablution stalls of the Convent Arborea.

Steam quickly filled the room and once the bath was filled I sank gratefully into the hot water. Every passing moment lent me more strength, and after a moment I realised it was just in my imagination.

I raised my hand and flexed my arm, turning my hand this way and that as I examined myself.

Was I brighter, now?

It certainly felt brighter in here. When I’d been in bed I’d been barely able to see myself, and now I was able to make out not only my own body but a few handspans beyond. It was still nothing compared to the effervescing star that was my Isarae, but it was certainly an improvement.

“How, though?” I muttered as I turned my arms this way and that. “Why am I brighter now than before?”

I sank back into the water and considered the difference. In the bedroom I was feeling useless, and now, after caring for the armour I certainly felt better.

The armour.

My mind began to race as I stood up sharply from the bath and scrambled out of it, grabbing a towel to dry myself before pulling on the spare bodyglove that I’d left hanging nearby.

The armour had been glowing, but the machine spirit in it wasn’t even awake! It had been shining with the light of the God-Emperor!

I pulled the glove taut and shifted around in it a bit to get comfortable before going back out to the main room and kneeling in front of the armour. It was shining now more brightly than it had been, and I think, perhaps, I had taken some of that light into myself. Or perhaps I was simply shining in sympathy with it, as I had devoted it to the God-Emperor I had opened myself to allow His light to shine through me all the brighter as well!

“Only one way to find out,” I said, then bowed my head before the emblazoned Aquila on the cuirass before raising my face to the emblem, and my voice in praise.

An ancient hymn to the God-Emperor devoting my life, and my death, to His service spilled from my lips, and with every word, I could feel my strength returning. I could feel His light filling me as my heart and spirit opened to Him.

My voice rose to a crescendo as I neared the final verses, and for a moment it was like I could see again. My light, no, His light, was reflecting off of everything, and the armour was burning with gold, corpusant light that crackled like wildfire.

“Alessa?!” Isarae’s voice startled me out of my devotions, and I whirled about to face her.

I staggered back and cried out the moment my perception settled upon her on the balcony. She was _blinding._ Her whole body was lit like a caged supernova, and it was casting all the rest of the world in painful definition. Through that storm of gold fire, though, I could see something else.

A cascade of sunrise light streamed around her face, framing two stars of beautiful wisteria.

And they were wide with fear.

“Alessa _stop!_ ” In a flash Isarae was at my side, her aura was flaring a violent shade of neon green shot through flares of teal. “You must stop this _now!_ ”

“S-Stop what?!” I was clamping my eyes shut but it wasn’t doing any good. The light was impossible to ignore and impossible to shut out!

“You’re flaring your power into the warp itself, Alessa!” She took hold of me, pressing me so close to her that the whole of my perceptions were drowned in her light, and suddenly it… it wasn’t quite so bad.

There was nothing in my whole world but the warm and encompassing light being given off my Isarae’s soul.

“Calm yourself, my love,” Isarae muttered soothingly. “Be calm, you are too near to the warptides, you must come back to me.”

I took several deep breaths and Isarae’s calming cold-smoke scent filled my lungs as she held me close. I did as she said, I forced myself to calm down by reciting litanies and catechisms in my mind until I felt stable again.

The light slowly grew more bearable. Isarae’s form was no longer an avatar of brilliance, although she was as bright as usual, and my own body was less outlined than it had been before, but there was more definition now, I could see more details of myself.

My surroundings were still dull and shadow-cloaked, but so long as Isarae was nearby I could make out much of the main room at least.

As if I needed another reason to stay by her side.

“I hope you are feeling better, Alessa, because we must move quickly,” Isarae said sharply, she was already packing things in satchels; rations and medicine mostly, before slinging them over her shoulder. “We cannot remain in this spire!”

“Why?” I questioned as I staggered to my feet, though began donning the artificer power armour all the same.

If Isarae was concerned then I had to trust that it was for a good reason.

“That flare of power was like a beacon,” Isarae explained with a sigh. “I had hoped that the psychic fallout of your prayers the night my soul was saved would preserve our privacy, but that flare was far more localised, they will not have missed it.”

“They?” I locked the cuirass in place, and with some help from Isarae began donning the extremities. “Who is 'they', ‘Rae? You’ve been hiding something from me all this time and I deserve to know!”

Isarae let out a groan and I watched her outline ripple as, I think, she did that little shake of her head she does when she’s annoyed with herself.

“I ought to have known you would see through it, _Cre’yth,_ ” she replied quietly. “How long have you known?”

“Since your first patrol,” I said truthfully, and she chuckled wanly. “Now tell me, _who is coming?_ ”

“My Craftworld cousins,” Isarae said, and I felt a chill go down my spine. “They have been haunting this city for dozens of cycles, though I know not why… but they _will_ have detected that surge, and they will come to investigate.”

“They would have felt it through the warp?” I asked, although I was certain I knew the answer.

“And on their detection arrays,” Isarae confirmed.

“Augur arrays could detect that?!” My eyes widened as grim premonition fell over me.

I felt Isarae frown as shadows clung to the edge of her aura, darkening the teal fear and concern. “I suppose so… it is an energy surge, so if someone were keeping track of the warptides, then they could not have missed it.”

“Then your cousins may not be the only ones on their way.”

The moment I spoke the words I knew they were true, and my fears were confirmed mere seconds later as I stood, fully armed and armoured, my ears were filled with the nostalgic roar of an Imperial dropship’s engine wash.

I wasn’t certain where Isarae’s mysterious kin were starting from, but the Priory of Gardens flew regular patrols over Amphitria. The Priory had its own small choir of Astropaths, it was how they had called for help, and if they had sensed me it would have been mere moments before the nearest patrol was informed of my location.

Isarae eyes were cast skyward, and even through the thin definition of my perceptions I could see the wide, worried expression, she wore punctuated by teal-shot green clinging to the edge of her aura.

It seemed I would not be able to put off my reunion with my Sisters any longer.


	27. Interact - Within the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a farseer weathers a storm

My world was a torment of psychic chaos.

“Menesa!”

“Not _now_ , Rhea!” I snarled the words out as I deflected the latest in a series of psychic onslaughts.

A storm had arrived, just as I had foreseen it. The runestones told of a weatherfront moving inwards from the plains to cross the _Mon-Keigh_ Hive and I thought we were prepared for it. The runestones had _not_ mentioned anything about a bloody warpstorm moving in along with the regular one!

Two of my Seers were dead, their minds blitzed to incognition by psychic overload, and laid at my feet. The four remaining Seers, led by myself, had erected a psychic veil to cover us, shielding our host of Banshees, along with the two companies of Guardians sent along with us and my harridan of a sister, from being torn apart by the psychic tumult that was currently scorching the Hive and the mountains surrounding it with psychic lightning.

“Menesa!”

“WHAT?!” I snapped glaring back at Rhea who looked pallid and drawn.

“We cannot hold much longer,” Rhea gasped. “Veil or no, my Banshees’ and the Guardians’ minds are not armoured as your Seers’ are!”

“Then fall back through the webway!” I shouted over the storm. “Retreat into cover, I have to remain out here to ensure the portal is not destroyed by this storm!”

“This is madness, sister!” Rhea roared. “Can you not feel It!? The Great Serpent looms over this wretched world!”

“I am _well aware!_ ” I bit the words out through gritted teeth as another psychic blow hammers our veil.

One of the Seers stumbled but kept his feet, but only barely, and I winced as a trickle of bright blood ran from his nose and one of his ears. I could let my concentration falter, my mind was the bulwark against the thunderous force of this storm, the seers were merely the supporting struts.

“Let us abandon this fool’s errand!” Rhea shouted, and I could feel her frustration bleeding off of her. “We never should have come to this blighted world!”

“We cannot allow this matter to remain unknown!” I finally turned, bending a precious amount of my concentration away from my task to focus on my sister. “If you wish to flee with your tail tucked and your head bowed then go! I will weather this storm and find the truth with you by my side or not!”

The response I expected from sister was fury, Rhea had never had the strongest grip on her temper, and her time with the Shrine had only highlighted it, if not exacerbated her nature. I tried not to think of the dreams I’d had these past cycles; the dreams of my sister’s warmask being her face. I know it is true that she will lose herself here, of that I am certain. This world was where my sister would take her first true steps into the realm of the Exarch, where she would lose herself forever to the Path.

Perhaps it was best if she left.

“Please, Mena,” Rhea pleaded, surprising me with the childish name of our youth. “This world is cursed… the Serpent has cast Her shadow over this world and if She finds us…”

“The Serpent is not alone,” I said firmly before turning back to my task. “There is another power warring against She Who Thirsts, I’m certain of it.”

“Another soul?” Rhea spoke the words in patent disbelief.

I hardly blamed her. I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t been witness to it myself. I could feel the conflict in the Empyrean, though… I could feel the battle being waged, and the impossible power being thrown about like common weapons-fire.

Is this what the War in Heaven was like, I wonder?

“What could battle the Serpent?” Rhea spoke with an edge of fear in her voice. Banshees were known for their fury in battle, but this was not a fight my sister could even hope to participate in. The best any of us could do was hope that the two calamities battling it out in the Heavens did not notice us.

“Another of its ilk,” I replied tightly.

It was not one of the other Dark Gods, though. I’m certain of that. If that were the case, this world would be a daemon-infested wasteland by now. No, this power is opposed to the Serpent on a fundamental level; where It brings chaos, this force brings something like stagnation… order in the most terrible extreme.

Another crash of psychic lightning put me on my heels, and a quiet sob of agony escaped one of my remaining seers as they crumpled to the ground. I groaned as the weight of the veil fell even more heavily on me and for a moment I staggered, my vision doubled, then tripled, and I tasted blood in my mouth.

“NO!” I shouted and hammered my mind back against the torrential winds of the warpstorm that battered me. “You will not have us! I deny you!”

I howled my defiance against the Great Serpent, refusing to allow even one more soul to fall into its maw.

“I am _Asuryani!_ ” I roared as I took a step forward, moving the veil back into position by main psychic force. “I am _AELDARI! WE ARE THE FIRSTBORN! AND YOU SHALL NOT HAVE US!_ ”

With my defiant snarls came the briefest lull in the near-constant fusillades washing over me, and the sudden lack of pressure was almost a feeling of ecstasy in and of itself. What followed on its heels, though, was something that seeded a deep and terrible fear within me.

A mote of infinite regard fell upon my soul and briefly, I was _blinded._

Gold.

I saw gold and gold and gold, and even though the weight of the storm had abated I couldfeel my remaining seers collapsing under the weight of the mind that briefly turned to us. Its attention was minute… barely a passing glance, and then it was mercifully gone… 

And the storm with it.

Relief flooded my limbs, taking all strength from them as I fell to my knees. I might have dashed my skull against the mountain stones if my sister hadn’t lept to my side, skidding across the grit and rock to catch me as I toppled.

“Mena!” Rhea cried my name out as she cradled me but I was barely even aware of her. “Mena! What happened?!”

“Gold,” I mumbled, trying to blink away the afterimage of a burning, predatory avian regarding me with burning eyes and crown of fire upon its brow. “I saw _gold_ … in the city… the city of stone and metal where the green tide surges… a flower of white gold and a thorny bloom of pale lavender entwined… forever entwined, this cannot be allowed… cannot be permitted… c-cannot-”

The words tumbled out of me in an incoherent mess, I couldn't even keep track of what I was saying much less what I meant, but I saw my sister nod as she laid me down gently on the ground.

“Take her to rest,” Rhea said quietly, and her voice was fading as if she was drifting a great distance away. “We will find these flowers… and I will cut them at the root.”


	28. Heresy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae is marked.

There was a tension in the air.

I could feel it thrumming through Alessa’s entire body as she went through the ritual steps of preparing herself to meet with her sisters. Her lips moved in quiet prayer as she knelt on the floor of the den, and I took a moment to look around our small set of quarters.

To my surprise, I felt a touch of regret.

Perhaps it was simply my new attunement to my own emotions, but I found myself regretful that we would be leaving this little home of ours because, in my mind, it was ours.

Mine and Alessa’s.

This had been our home. It was where we had learned to trust one another, where we had spent so many days and nights talking, sparring, and simply _being_. I glanced dolefully back at our bedroom and sighed quietly. I could not help but recall all the nights spent with Alessa lying warm and safe in my arms, curled against me as I held her nightmares at bay with my embrace.

I had loved her even then, I realised. I had loved Alessa for some time, actually. At first, she was no more than an amusement for me to pass the remaining few days of my life doting on, not unlike taking in a stray, but she had so quickly become far more than that.

It would be a poor lie to say the flavor of her soul had had nothing to do with my initial interest, and yes, perhaps she had first begun as an addiction, one of the many, _many_ vices I’d indulged over my life.

But now she was so much more.

“Isarae?”

“Hm?” I turned to regard Alessa who was looking up at me curiously from where she knelt. “What’s wrong, my love?”

“I was about to ask you that,” Alessa replied.

“It is nothing,” I said. “I was simply looking over our quarters… I suppose it is the last we will see of them, yes?”

Alessa frowned. “I suppose so, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I do not think your Imperial soldiery will permit us to return here,” I said, gesturing around the room. “Do you?”

“No, I don’t.” Alessa sighed and stood, taking a moment to look around for herself. “A shame… I was growing comfortable here, and it was almost starting to feel like home.”

“We will find another home,” I assured her, stepping closer and pressing my forehead to hers. “But I will certainly miss the bath.”

Alessa chuckled softly before leaning in a little and brushing her lips over mine.

“As will I,” she agreed. “But I will miss the bed more.”

“Your Imperial fortress does not have beds?” I asked with a raised eyebrow, earning a roll of the eyes from Alessa.

“It does,” she replied. “But they are far less comfortable and significantly less… roomy.”

“Then we are fortunate,” I traced my fingers along her bare cheeks, and relished her little shiver, “that I need very little room to tend to you, _Cre’yth_.”

“As lovely as that sounds, ‘Rae…” Alessa trailed off and sighed. “Please follow my lead in this, my love,” she raised a hand and pressed it to my cheek gently. “They will want you dead, purged and burned, and I do not wish to give them any excuse to do so because if we do they will _take_ it.”

“I know,” I said. “I trust you, Alessa.”

“No pressure then?” She asked with a wan little smile.

“None at all.” I leaned in and playfully pecked a kiss onto her nose. “Now, how shall we play this?”

Alessandra’s features hardened to something like steel, and I found I did not dislike the look of determination she wore. There was something quite charming about it, and something evocative, too.

“The Imperium is a straight-thrust blade,” she declared, “and we must be the same… there can be no machinations, no hint of subterfuge, and no ‘Eldar trickery’, which means I must have full control over this.”

“Over me, you mean,” I said, and Alessa grimaced.

“Yes,” she replied finally. “Over you.”

The look on her face told me she did not relish the prospect. I know that, even now, she tormented herself over her decision to take my life when I fought with her sisters on the plaza below. I know, too, that she still did not trust herself, but it was clear to me that whatever trust and confidence she lacked, it would not matter.

We had only one path open to us, which meant that she had to either accept that I trusted her regardless of her choices and even, in part, because of them, or she would damn us both to purgation.

‘No pressure’ indeed.

“I have given you my all, _Cre’yth,_ ” I said finally before sliding my palms over hers and twining our fingers together. “I yield my everything to your hands, we shall stand together, or die together, but in all things…”

“We will be together,” Alessa said, then leaned in.

And paused.

Since the loss of her sight, Alessa more often than not let me take the lead in our affections. A few too many bumped noses and misjudged distances had left her red-faced and me amused, if slightly bruised. Despite her tentative vision, her ability to judge three dimensions was hampered by her effectively being able to perceive far more than that.

So I answered her silent request, meeting her lips with mine, and she leaned in to kiss me as warmly as ever she did. It was soft and insistent, and I held her close to me as our tongues met. She shivered in my arms as she relaxed, and I did my best to take the strain of what was to come from her shoulders if only for a few moments.

As we parted, she traced her fingers across my brow with a thoughtful expression, then smiled mischievously.

“I’m going to need you to kneel, ‘Rae,” she said suddenly before turning away to start rooting through one of the packs of supplies.

“Why?” I raised an eyebrow as she tossed a few things haphazardly over her shoulder in her search. 

“Trust me!” She said with a hint of frustration before making a small noise of triumph, rising from over the pack, and turning back to me. “Just kneel, please!”

I held up my hands in mock surrender and got down on my knees as Alessa set a few stoppered ceramic bottles on the counter nearby, uncorked them, and began upending and mixing their contents in a small plate from one of the counters. It was the work of a few moments, and when she turned to me, she did so with a look of solemnity on her face as she dipped her finger into the mixture on the plate.

“Isarae of Commorragh,” Alessa intoned, “thou art xeno and by thy unholy biology thou art sin.”

I raised an eyebrow but remained silent as she curled her fingers and scooped something black and viscous from the plate and extended her hand towards me.

“Yet is the Emperor who is God not mighty? Does the light most divine which shines from His soul and is the Astronomicon not reach all who stand within the demesne of Mankind?” Alessa was speaking with a powerful fervor that stoked something in my heart, and on instinct, I bowed my head. “Thou art xeno, but in the light of the God-Emperor thou cans’t be of service most holy!”

“The Emperor protects.” I don’t know why I felt compelled to say it, but the words came anyway.

“Raise thy head, O’ daughter of wickedness, and look well upon His light!” Alessa commanded and I obeyed, raising my head as she lowered her hand, and began to carefully daub the viscous mixture across my face.

Her armoured fingers traced my brow and around my eyes, and under my cheeks with a rote and ritual efficiency.

“As the last of my command and acting Sister Superior, I declare thee now to be Sanctioned under Imperial law by Ecclesiarchal authority!”

A smile found its way across my lips. Alessa was perhaps a little more conniving than I had given her credit for. Sanctioning was something she had mentioned prior, and from what I gathered it was the only way for a non-human to operate in a civil manner alongside humans. Likewise, it struck me as a rare phenomenon, and while I had no idea whether or not the Imperials would recognise Alessa’s act as legitimate, it was also true that we could use every edge we could get.

Alessa wiped her fingers clean of the mix on a white cloth, and as she did she smiled. It was a soft, featherlight expression, even if her eyes weren’t fully fixed on me.

“It looks good,” Alessa said. “The mark, I mean.”

I turn to one of the smooth, decorative mirrors on the wall, and the face that looks back is borderline unrecognizable.

My hair was tied back in my usual war braid, but Alessa and I had performed some cosmetic alterations to my armor; embossing the Imperial Eagle over my chest and gilding the black edges with a shade of soft gold metallic dye. It would chip easily, but it could be properly applied once we had access to real armour facilities, which she assured me the Priory possessed.

Whether or not I would be able to avail myself of those facilities was another matter, and one about which I was considerably less sanguine than Alessa was. Alessa was absolute in her certainty that she would be able to sway her sisters, and while my fledgling faith in the words of the Imperial Creed and in the luminous being called the God-Emperor was strong, I was not quite as certain regarding his mortal servants.

Zeal had many attributes and only a handful of them were positive.

The mark though… I liked the mark.

Across the pale skin of my face, Alessa had daubed a long-feathered Imperial Aquila. The twin heads rested on my brow, and the wings crossed my eyes and fanned over my cheeks, while the two claws terminated at either side of my mouth.

It was certainly striking.

“Where to now, my love?” I asked.

Alessa smiled.

“We go to where this began, I think,” she replied, gesturing towards the window. “The plaza is open ground, and my sisters will feel more comfortable if we step into a place where they can see us easily.”

“Do we simply wait for them to find us?” I raised an eyebrow at that. “Do not forget, my Craftworld cousins are doubtless on their way.”

“I am aware,” Alessa said. “But we must play this correctly, and when I look upon the plaza I know in my heart it is the correct path.” She laid a hand on my shoulder, then reached up and trailed a single finger across my lips as she smiled. “The God-Emperor guides me, ‘Rae, and I shall follow the path He has given me.”

“The Emperor protects,” I intoned. There was something strangely comforting in saying the phrase aloud, and now I could understand why the humans said it so often.

“Come, my heart.” Alessa laced her fingers in mine.

Taking what supplies we could easily carry, we descended the spire hand-in-hand, with my grip guiding her down the treacherous and rubble-strewn steps of the ruined habitat. 

I kept my senses alert and tuned for the slightest whisper of suspicious movement. I was not certain I would see or hear one of my cousins before they were upon us. Some of their Shrine warriors were masterful assassins, no less than the terrible Mandrake, but most of my Craftworld kin preferred the old ways of battle, when we would surge across the field with witchblades held aloft and cries of battle on our lips.

Those were better times, I supposed. Before the Fall, and before the Serpent.

And yet… I would not trade my time with Alessa for any amount of time in that Golden Age.

“Alessa?” I tightened my grip on her hand as we reached the open foyer and exit of the spire, and she turned her head to regard me quizzically.

“Did you sense something, ‘Rae?” Alessa paused, and her fingers screwed fast around mine. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, _Cre’yth,_ I just…”

On a whim, I released Alessa’s hand, took her in my arms, and pulled her into a long, deep kiss, which she returned with eager affection. Her mouth moved across mine in that lovely, familiar manner, and our tongues tangled in their intimate dance. A part of me wished she was not wearing her armour for this. I had no illusions that we both might be walking into death at the hands of Alessa’s sisters, and I wanted to feel her softness once more before that came.

But I could not be greedy.

I had already been given so much more in the last few dozen cycles than I had any right to have touched, much less held. Still, I hoped the God-Emperor would not begrudge me delaying us for one potentially final kiss.

Alessa drew away from me breathless and flushed, but smiling.

“We will be alright, Isarae,” Alessa said, as if she knew precisely the thoughts that were in my head. “I promise… remember?”

“The Emperor protects.”

We spoke the words in unison, and I nodded, then pressed my lips to her forehead, took her hand, and nodded.

“Let us go to our fate, then,” I said.

I guided Alessa outside until we reached the center of the plaza where so much of my life had been decided in the strangest manner. It was here that I had seen the woman I would fall hopelessly in love with. It was here that I would encounter the first embers of my salvation. It was here that I would lay my blade upon the ground and accept the shadow of death and the hunger of the laughing gods for the sake of Alessa’s smile.

It was here that Alessa had faced her crisis of faith, to protect me or to protect her sisters. It was here that she had chosen, in a way, to do both.

So it is fitting that it should be _here_ that the next step in this strange journey would be decided.

“God-Emperor full of grace,” Alessa began, “watch over thy daughter in this time of trial, and may the light which illuminates the torment of the Warp also illuminate me.”

As the final words left her lips, Alessa reached past the collar of her armour, slipped her fingers beneath the gorget, and reactivated the signum transponder.


	29. Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessa argues before an Angel.

There was a tension in the air.

It thickened the moment I flicked the transponder on and the machine spirit of the chapel armour began to click and chirp as the spirits of the augury arrays that my sisters were doubtless scanning with made contact. 

Sure enough, bare seconds had passed before the thundering backwash of Imperial engines soared over us, and I flinched back as the engine wash kicked up dust and debris over Isarae and I.

My blinded eyes could give me only the vaguest impressions of what was around us. The soulsight, as Isarae had taken to calling it, was limited in scope to living beings, but my ears told me it was likely an Imperial Guard VTOL, a Valkyrie or one of the associated models that could both land and take off vertically. Any action taken in a Hive would necessitate a small fleet of such vehicles since open spaces are few and far between, and usually quite cramped.

A thunderous clank echoed around the plaza as the landing gear was deployed, and moments later the deafening thud of the ramp being dropped followed. I tensed as flickers of golden light began to filter into my vision; the faith-filled souls of my sisters.

My chest tightened further a heartbeat before Isarae’s hand took a harder grip on mine as another soul followed what I tentatively counted as a full squad of Sisters of Battle out of the ramp and into the dim light of Amphitria.

It was massive. The soul was like a pulsar, and gleamed with cold, unyielding might.

“Kneel, ‘Rae,” I hissed.

Thankfully, she did not argue and quickly dropped to one knee, bowing her head low until it was nearly touching the ground.

“Adeptus Astartes,” I whispered, and I felt more than saw Isarae nod in agreement. “Describe him to me, ‘Rae, his armour, colours, weapons, and livery.”

“Gray, the colour of frosted steel,” she replied quietly from below me, “and chased subtly with silver.”

“Chain weapons?” I asked, feeling a small seed of hope bloom. “And what of the symbols?”

If it was the local chapter then there was still hope, but if this battle-brother was one of the vaunted xenoslaying Deathwatch then there would be no resolution but death for us both.

“A curious weapon,” Isarae continued. “I think it is supposed to resemble a scythe, and yes, it uses your kind’s crude chain technology. As for the symbol, it is a skull covered in a mourning shroud. Or at least, that is how it seems to my eyes.”

Relief flooded through me.

“What heresy is this?!”

The metal chorus of bolters taking aim filled the plaza at the words of one of my sisters, likely the Sister Superior from her decorated armor and laurel-adorned helm, and I let my hand rest casually on the crown of Isarae’s head.

“Sisters!” I called out, taking a single step forward even as my armour was blaring alerts that I was being targeted by mass-reactive weaponry. I blink-clicked the alerts away and raised both my hands and my voice in fervent praise. “Rejoice! For the Emperor is with us in these dark days!”

“Still your tongue, _heretic!_ ” One of my sister’s snaps venomously, her voice distorted by the vox of her helm.

“I shall not!” I bellowed, and I felt them set back by my words. I could not back down, I could not give them even a single inch.

If my zealous sisters smelled so much as a _hint_ of uncertainty I would lose everything and we would both die. Even given the best possible scenario, it was possible we would still both die, but I had faith that the God-Emperor had brought us together for a reason.

He would not permit us to die like this.

“Are you so blind, sisters?!” I implored, gesturing around us. “Are your eyes so shrouded in darkness that you cannot see that you are in the presence of a miracle?!”

“A miracle?” The voice of the Sister Superior was rich with disbelief. “I stand in the presence of a xenoborn filth and a _former_ sister whose mind is broken by madness.”

“Raise thy head, Isarae of Commorragh.” I spoke with as much confidence as I could.

Isarae followed my command, and I grinned at the soft intakes of breath over our linked vox network. The mark of the Imperial Eagle was clear and obvious on her face and on over her breast.

“You _dare?_ ” The Sister Superior hissed the words out in shock. “You _dare_ sully the holy Aquila by placing on the flesh of a vile alien?”

“The God-Emperor has placed his hand upon her very soul!” I roared. “Did you not feel His light some cycles ago? Did you somehow fail to notice the heavens crack and split as He battled the Prince of Excess?!”

I could feel the Sister Superior rally to reply but I cut her off before she could regain any steam.

“For whom did you imagine our Divine Lord did battle?!” I raised my hand from Isarae’s head. “For me?! I have laid my soul unto his grace already!”

“This alien _filth_ was cornered cycles ago!” Another sister cried. “So it was you who laid fire upon your own sisters and permitted her to escape!”

“It was!” I declared, silencing them all. I could feel the stunned shock radiating off of them.

This was the tipping point. My sin against my sisters for the sake of an alien was something that, under normal circumstances, would be impossible to disregard. If I faltered here, all would be lost.

“I spared her as she spared me!” I took another step forward, unwilling to yield. “I was laid low! My squad slaughtered by the greenskin plague, my sisters dead, my body broken, and my wargear in shambles!” I gestured back to Isarae as I spoke. “And at the moment of my demise, surrounded by the barbarous Orks, Isarae saved me and tore them to pieces!”

“Eldar breathe only lies, little sister,” the Superior spat. “They poison the soil of the Emperor’s faithful, they taint our holy purpose for their own meaningless ends.”

She took aim at me now. Where before, the weapons of my sisterhood had been trained mostly on Isarae, likely out of respect for the danger one of her kind represented, now the Sister Superior had leveled her own bolter squarely at my head.

“You have fallen, sister,” she spoke with dark solemnity, “but there is hope in the Emperor’s embrace… repent before your death, and your soul may still go to his light.”

I could feel Isarae tense behind me, and I flattened my hand in a dismissive gesture at her. She would not suffer to see me harmed any more than I would such done to her, but I could not allow it. I could not allow blood to be shed on either side.

“Isarae protected me,” I continued, ignoring her threat. “She washed my wounds and tended them, she cared for me while I recovered.” My sister’s auras were shifting. Where before their auras had a hard, golden edge to them, now they were crazed like cracking glass. “Not only that, but I also bear evidence upon my very body of a miracle of Saint Arabella, which I witnessed with my own eyes.”

 _That_ got their attention, and I spread my arms wide so they could see the armour I was wearing more clearly.

“This holy wargear, a relic of our own Order of the Radiant Wisteria, was preserved.” Fascination, disgust, and apprehension warred across the Sister Superior’s aura as she stared at the artificer armour.

To gun me down would damage the armour, but in her eyes it was being worn by a heretic, yet at the same time… a miracle of Saint Arabella could not be ignored. Our sainted founder was, and still is, renowned for making the impossible possible.

“We are martyrs of the faith,” I said quietly. “This armour was laid to rest upon a statue of Saint Arabella, and it was Isarae, not I, who defended it, avenged the sisters of our Order who died protecting it, and then…” I turned away from the Sister Superior to regard Isarae fondly. She did not look up, but I felt her aura warm under my blind gaze. “Then she pulled our sisters’ bodies from the rubble, armour and all, and laid them in state beneath the gaze of Saint Arabella.”

“Lies,” the word was hissed venomously from the Sister Superior’s lips. “You _lie_.”

“She does not.”

The words boomed and even I nearly jumped in place. My sisters whose guns were still trained on us looked equally spooked as I saw a flash of indigo panic ripple across their collective auras the moment the up-til-then silent Astartes spoke. He had been so quiet and so circumspect, that I had almost forgotten he was there, although how his presence could have slipped my notice I cannot say.

It was as though his quasidivine soul had simply slid back to rest in the shadows, hidden from sight and content to watch the prattlings of we mortals.

Hard, scarlet rage scored along the edge of the Sister Superior’s aura as she turned to the Astartes.

“With due respect, Lord Antares,” she said in a tone that was tight with strain, “how can you know that?”

“Lies, Sister Danika,” the Lord Angel called Antares began in a surprisingly flowing, cultured voice, “are simple things.” He gestured to me with his free hand in a broad, open manner. “When mortals lie, it is not so difficult to see, most especially because the mind of man is not made for untruth… they must lie to themselves first before lying to others, and this daughter of the Emperor has not lied, to us or to herself.”

Then he turned to Isarae, red eye-lenses regarding her blankly.

“Whether this one has lied, however, is up for debate,” He finished.

“She is Eldar,” Danika spat. “She cannot speak but to lie!”

“Untrue, but broadly accurate,” Antares replied in a dismissive tone that I had to fight not to smile at as the scarlet rage deepened on the Sister Superior’s aura. “The Eldar speak only to further the aims of their people, their culture, and their kind, with no respect for the rightful masters of this galaxy.”

It was a clear bait, but one that Isarae did not rise to. Not that I imagined she would have. The Lord Angel, wise and powerful though he was, could not know of Isarae’s very un-Eldar-like disdain for her own species.

Antares approached, crossing the line of sisters and past the Sister Superior in a pair of long, easy, power-armoured strides. In the shadow of one of the Angels of Death, I felt the first flicker of uncertainty as he regarded me cooly from behind his faceplate for a long moment before turning back to Isarae who remained kneeling. Her head was raised so the mark was clearly visible, but to my relief, her eyes remained cast down in respect.

A soft, deep click of a mag-release issued from the Lord Angel as he took a hold of his bolter, raised the enormous weapon, and leveled the barrel squarely at Isarae.

“What purpose do you serve here, Eldar?” Antares asked. “What ends do you meet by looking after this child? She is a flicker to one such as you… an ember in a windstorm, so speak, and do not lie.”

Isarae did not reply. Not right away, at any rate. Rather, she turned away from the barrel with unconcerned ease to look up at me, ignoring the Astartes who was so casually threatening her.

She was asking permission.

I gave her a small nod.

Turning back to Lord Antares, Isarae raised her face to meet his crimson lenses fully and without fear.

“I came here to die, Lord Astartes,” she said in her softly accented gothic.

“Do not mock the-!” My elder sister began to snarl as Isarae used the Angel’s title, but Antares himself was the one who cut her off with a swiftly raised hand.

“Say that again.” He spoke with curiosity now.

Isarae gave me another look, her aura rippling with uncertainty. I nodded again, I had done my part and preserved us til now, but he wasn’t addressing me, and I could not intervene with his questioning. If he decided to execute Isarae and I, he would be entirely within his remit to do so, and I doubted any of my Sisters would voice a doubt even if he was not.

“I said: I came here to die, Lord Astartes,” Isarae repeated.

“Again.”

I frowned, confused at the Angel’s demands, and from the shifting of Isarae’s aura she was no more certain as to what he wanted than I was.

“My Lord?” Isarae queried. “I’m not certain I understand.”

“My title,” Antares clarified. “Say it once more.”

“Lord… Astartes?”

He nodded.

“Lord Astartes,” Isarae said obediently.

“Fascinating.” Antares stepped backed and lowered his bolter, I suppressed a vocal sigh of relief as he turned his head to regard Sister Superior Danika through crimson lenses. “This Eldar speaks sincerely.”

“I… am afraid I fail to grasp your meaning, my Lord,” Danika replied tersely. “How is that relevant?”

Antares turned back to Isarae as he maglocked his bolter. “This Eldar speaks my title with genuine respect. This is not the first Eldar I have parlied with, and I imagine it shall not be the last, but it is the first one to show the same deference and respect I am given from an Imperial citizen.”

“You are a son of the God-Emperor, Lord Astartes,” Isarae said quietly. “Your soul carries His light. To show you disrespect would dishonor He who shields my soul from darkness.” She raised her eyes head again, daring to meet the eyes of the Angel. “It would be heresy.”

The intake of breath from the line of armed Sisters was audible.

It must have been quite a thing to hear an Eldar speak of heresy in such a manner, and it probably would have opened another round of debate if not for what happened immediately after.

Our only warning was a pair of faint clicks from something metal striking the ground. It could have been any stray piece of debris, and for most of the squad, and myself, the sound was lost amidst the noises of the city, the creaking Hive, and the distant detonations of battle and looting.

The only ones who reacted were Isarae and the Lord Angel.

“GRENADE!” Antares roared, backpedaling and seizing Sister Danika by the collar of her power armor, heaving her back like she was a stray kitten.

In that same instant Isarae lashed out a foot and caught me at the knee, toppling me over and grabbing my arm as I shouted in alarm before heaving me over her shoulder to throw me clear only to follow me a breath later as I crashed deafening onto the ground a few meters away.

A clap of explosive lightning detonated a heartbeat later, sending a wash of crackling electrical discharge out, and as I scrabbled to my feet I watched all of my sisters, the Sister Superior included, as well as the Lord Angel stagger. Most of my sisters fell gracelessly, dragged down by the weight of their armour. Sister Danika kept her feet through force of stubborn will alone, and the Lord Angel held himself upright by virtue of his genhanced physiology.

“AMBUSH!” Danika cried, trying in vain to raise her bolter, but her arms were weighed down by her armour.

“Get down!” Isarae kipped up to her feet with acrobatic grace before lashing her blade out like a whip, coiling it around Danika’s legs, and yanking her feet out from under her.

Danika dropped like a stone with a startled squawk just as what I recognised as a volley of splinterfire raked through the space she had been standing in.

A fusillade of shots filled the air with hissing, monomolecular projectiles, all aimed at my prone and helpless Sisters, and I watched in horror as the Lord Angel heaved himself forward against the weight of his armor to stand between the downed warriors. His armor chipped and punctured in a hundred places, and even with his arms crossed over his vital areas I was certain he would not last.

Then, in the distance, a high, keening wail split the air, and my heart quaked.


	30. Kin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae faces down her Craftworld cousins.

_You will not have her._

That was the first thought that passed through my mind as I whirled on my heel to face down the familiar, psychic wail of Asuryani Banshees that had filled the air, completely overwriting the hiss and spit of shuriken fire.

The human warriors were still disabled, a brace of well-placed haywire grenades made short work of their power armoured systems, rendering even the powerful Lord Astartes as little more than a lumbering behemoth of ceramite and muscle. Even in spite of that, he still used his body as a shield against the withering fire of the Guardian squads that were spilling out from the surrounding buildings.

I had hoped we would have more time.

Time enough to extract back to Alessa’s fortress priory, at least.

Nothing can ever be so simple, though, can it?

“Stay down, _Cre’yth!_ ” I spun my blade around my waist and drew Hellebore and Rue from their holsters at my sides.

“Isarae!”

Alessa’s voice stopped me in my tracks. She was rising to a knee, keeping low to minimize her profile. Her blind eyes settled on me, and the expression she wore was one of deadset determination.

“Purge them, then return to my arms.” Alessa’s order rang through me and, despite the dire situation, I smiled.

“As you say, my love.” I turned back to the Asuryani threat, settled my heels against the ground, and surged forward.

I counted a score of Guardians in tight, disciplined groups of four. My Craftworld cousins bracketed the entire plaza with suppressing fire, but the moment I rose and began to move they faltered.

It was minute, barely noticeable, and likely invisible to any who are not Aeldari, but I’m certain that the sight of one of my kind, a Druchi Wych, wearing the colours and livery of the hated Imperium of Man must have startled them.

The heartbeat-long lull in their concentrated fire was all the opening I needed.

I ducked and wove between streams of shuriken, reading their shot's trajectory full breaths before the feeds engaged by the angle and set of their weapons. I kicked off from the ground, leaping high and spinning in the air, using the rotation to mark every target in the sight.

The Guardian’s broke off their suppressive fire to aim, but they weren’t nearly fast enough. One squad of four dropped at almost the same moment as I put splinterfire through the vulnerable visors of their helms in midair, and they barely had time to shriek out their agony before their brains turned to slurry from the neurotoxic rounds.

By my count, I had only moments before the Banshees arrived, and they would be the truer test.

Mindful of that, I struck the ground running, sending pinpoint shots of splinter rounds into the soft, vulnerable parts of the Guardians, splitting through eyeglasses and the flexible joints as their shuriken fire chewed up the ground and walls around me, all while I danced joyously between streams of death.

Ah, I had missed this: the carnevale of combat! The bloody and riotous gala of violence played out to a symphony of screams! I conducted their hoarse cries with aplomb as I put round after round through them while they tried in vain to pin me down with disciplined fire.

“Glory to the God-Emperor!” I cried as I spun and spiraled ecstatically between fusillades. “Death to the _Aeldarii!_ ” 

It was cleansing.

Every one of my own kind I put down was another sluice of clean water across my muddied soul. Our wretched empire had birthed unfathomable corruption. The galaxy would have been better for it had my hubristic kind never crawled from whatever primordial muck we were born from!

That these Craftworld fools clung to life and continued to pollute the galaxy with their worthless breath was bad enough. That they had the unbridled gall to interfere with the servants of the God-Emperor, He who battled the Serpent for my soul, was unconscionable.

Death was the only recourse for such an offense.

I cut through the Guardians like death herself. Their clumsy shots were no more accurate than an Ork’s to my eyes, and, as the last of the Guardian squads dropped, I holstered my pistols, gripped the hilt of my Razorflail, and snapped it out just as three Banshees erupted from the shadows with blades drawn and psychic screams projecting from their open-mawed helms.

“DRUCHI!” 

The word was spat with such venom, projected through the psychosonic amplifiers in the lead warrioress’ helm, and the shriek struck me like a hammerblow across the chest.

Instinctive terror froze my limbs and rattled my brain as the psychic shockwaves of their combined screams washed over. I could not breathe, I could not move. My arms were limp and my guts turned watery against my will as the three Aeldari killers came at me, blades raised high, and in the light reflected from their powered weapons I saw my death.

“ISARAE!”

Alessa’s cry shattered my fear. With a bellow of rage, I lunged forward, weaving between blade strikes at the last moment. The Banshees tried to turn, to keep me in their sight, but they were not nearly quick enough.

I took the legs from the leftmost Banshee. My flail tore through her aspect armour, then through flesh, then bone, and she screamed in agony as she struck the ground in a pool of her own blood while both of her legs fell like driftwood beside her.

Dancing backward, I wove between the expert strikes of the remaining two. They were damnably fast. I had only taken the first one because I had surprised them with my recovery. Now they were cautious, and wherever one struck, the other guarded her sister’s flank. There was no opening for my flail, or at least there was none that would not result in my taking a blade thrust to the gut from one if I attacked the other.

I risked a glance behind me between defensive flourishes.

Even grievously wounded, the Astartes warrior was ferrying Alessa’s sisters back into the protective cover of the landing craft, carrying the dead weight of his own armour by main strength. I could hear the guttering engine of the craft as it’s pilot attempted to coax it back to life, but its subsystems were likely still inactive from the haywire grenades.

As for Alessa…

My eyes widened as I saw her raising her bolter and taking aim. How was she standing? Surely she wasn’t considering opening fire? She may not have been fully blind, but accurate fire was almost certainly beyond her, at least for now. If Alessa pulled the trigger she was likely to hit me as she was to hit the Banshees.

On the heel of that thought came another one.

There was no chance, absolutely none, that Alessa would risk hitting me, which meant she wasn’t intending to fire on us, so where-? 

I readied myself a fraction of a second before Alessa pulled the trigger. She unleashed two quick, disciplined bursts of bolter fire in our direction and they struck their targets perfectly.

The mass reactive rounds chewed through the ground between us even as the Banshees forced me backward, ripping holes in the stonework floor precisely where the Banshee warriors were moving.

Alessa, you beautiful creature.

For cycle upon cycle, Alessa had sparred against me, sometimes for hours at a time, and she had learned quickly that although the danger to her body lay in my attacks, the ability to predict those attacks lay in my footwork.

Disrupt the footwork, disrupt the attacks.

The Banshees stumbled.

Only slightly, and it slowed them only fractionally, but for a handful of breaths their movements desynchronised, and gaps in their defense opened like wounds in the air. 

My razorflail snapped like a biting carnadon as the Banshees were forced to correct their movements to prevent stepping into the holes blown in the stone.

One Banshee shrieked as my flail split her from groin to jaw, putting her down in a swelter of gore as her sister screamed and attempted to lunge through my guard. I spoiled the thrust of her blade with a flick of my wrist, sending the strike wide as I twisted and spun, catching her neck with a spinning kick that sent her sprawling to the ground.

I lashed the ground around me furiously as I landed, ripping up the stone plaza as I advanced on the Banshee who had coiled into a crouch, her blade raised across her in a defensive guard.

“ _How dare you,_ ” I hissed in Aeldarii. “ _How dare you threaten my Alessa with your vile presence._ ”

“ _What are you?_ ” The Banshee growled, her helm’s amplivox twisting and distorting her words as she backed slowly away. “ _What Dark One would wear the mark of mankind’s corpse god?_ ”

“ _Do not speak your heresies to me, daughter of Morai-Heg,_ ” I spat. “ _The God-Emperor knows my name, while you and your wretched sisters will go to the maw of the Serpent._ ”

“ _Impossible,_ ” The Banshee said. “ _The seer was right… utterly impossible…_ ”

I raised an eyebrow. So one of their seers was here. That didn’t really surprise me, but what did catch me off guard was that apparently they had seen something regarding me.

Or… perhaps something regarding Alessandra.

I snapped my razorflail back into its blade form and raised it to point at the Banshee.

“ _What did your seer claim?_ ” I asked.

She didn’t reply. The Asuryani warrior only stared me down through the lenses of her warmask as my patience frayed. Well, no matter. There was nothing this wretch could tell me that I could trust. I was wasting my time even speaking to her.

“ _Give She Who Thirsts my regards, as I will not be seeing her,_ ” I said with a smirk.

“Isarae get down!” 

My body obeyed Alessa’s command before I could consciously acknowledge it. I lashed out as I dropped, arching my blade at the Banshee as she rolled away just as several things happened at once.

First, the Banshee’s blade, and her arm, was sliced clean from her body as my attack went wide from my sudden drop to the ground. Second, a fusillade of bolter fire opened up over my head, forcing the Banshee to continue her retreat as she bled copiously from the stump of her arm. Thirdly, another keening wail split the air, heralding the arrival of another of the Banshee’s sister warriors.

And fourth: a tight beam of white, ravening energy punched through the meat of my right shoulder. If I hadn’t dropped, it would have gutted me and severed my spine.

My body flooded a combination of numbing narcotics and stimulants in an instant as I hit the ground hard. Even through the haze of agony and chemicals, I recognised the shot from an Asuryani Long-Rifle. I should have known better, I should have known they would have support from their Rangers.

To make matters worse, another Banshee had rounded the corner and was barreling down the boulevard at me. My breath caught in my throat as I scrabbled for my weapon before flipping back, over and over, to get away from the charging Banshee.

This was no mere aspect warrior.

In her hands she gripped a long, heavy glaive whose head crackled with power. I had faced ones like her only a handful of times before and it was always a terrible challenge. If this warrior was not an exarch of a Shrine, then she was undoubtedly near that stage.

None but the most skilled and aggressive of the Banshees enter a battle with an Executioner in hand.

She powered towards me riding the thrust of her glaive in a single, killing strike that I fended off with a clumsy snap of my flail. One of my arms was all but dead weight, and without it my chances of victory against a foe of this caliber were dismal at best.

If I had been whole then the fight would have been in my favor, but only just. I was no fool, I knew precisely how deadly this Asuryani warrior must be to handle a weapon like that so deftly.

And deft it was.

She spun the glaive like a parade baton, spinning it around herself in murderous arcs that would cleave through armor and flesh with equal ease.

Through it all I had to be careful. I thought I had judged accurately where the sniper had shot from, and I managed to backpedal far enough into the plaza that the Ranger would no longer have a clean shot, but that did not account for his own movements.

We needed to leave this place, and quickly. We were outpositioned, outflanked, and under fire from an unseen foe, there were too many factors against us, and I wasn’t certain I could extract myself now that I had engaged the Banshee that, likely, led this detachment.

“ _Die, Druchi!_ ” The Banshee leader screamed, her rage at the deaths and injury of her sisters was palpable.

“Not yet!” I snarled, snapping my razorflail in a rattling crash against her glaive and sending her wheeling back a step.

She reclaimed that step, and another three on top, a heartbeat later as she lunged out with a withering set of staccato thrusts aimed at my heart, neck, and the arteries of my legs, forcing me back as she reclaimed her advantage. 

“Isarae retreat!” Alessa called, and I dared a quick glance to see her standing on the ramp of the vehicle, the engine had started, but it was laboring, and the wounded were aboard.

But I could not obey her.

If I broke off the duel the Banshee would take my head off, and I had no advantage to claim over her. I could barely keep myself alive, and my wound slowed me enough that even that would not last much longer.

A sharp whistle alerted me to a small object hurtling a meter or so past me on my left even as I began to resign myself to death. I didn’t have time to wonder what Alessa was thinking, I simply moved, collapsing my guard completely, dropping straight down and onto my back as I lashed my flail out and to the side to strike what Alessa had sent my way.

My blade split through the fragmentation grenade like soft cheese, and the resulting detonation deafened and blinded me. The Banshee took it far worse, though. She screamed as she was bodily pitched away with her whole left side peppered with smoking shrapnel.

I wasn’t much better off, but between being low to the ground and my foe’s own body giving me cover, I had avoided the worst of it. Hot metal was digging into my legs, and I was certain that one of the pieces had blown straight through one of my kneecaps. Either way, my legs were refusing to take my weight, so I dragged myself towards the ramp, unwilling to simply give in and fail in Alessa’s order.

I would return to her. She ordered me to return to her arms and I-!

“Get away from her!” 

Shots poured out over my head as Alessa hurried out towards me, her bolter up and firing haphazardly at the staggered Banshee who drunkenly spun her glaive around her, still catching and deflecting the few bolter rounds that might have hit her in spite of her dazed state.

Alessa seized my dead arm with one armoured hand and dragged me backward towards the ramp, still firing one-handed in controlled bursts, but the Banshee leader was having none of it.

The Banshee charged, abandoning defense and even taking a few glancing shots across her pauldrons as she bore down on Alessa and I. I couldn’t focus on her, my ears were still ringing from the explosion, and even my enhanced physiology couldn’t make up for the damage I’d taken fast enough.

“Take her!” Alessa ordered as she heaved me up, and a moment later the enormous arms of Lord Antares were around me and bodily heaving me into the aircraft.

“ALESSA!” I cried out as I was pulled from her grasp. 

As the Banshee knocked the bolter from Alessa’s hands, I felt my heart cram itself into my throat as I struggled against the dead weight and impossible strength of the Astartes who was carrying me.I

“ALESSA!”

I screamed my love's name as I kicked and struggled. I tried to get to her, but the Astartes' grip was utterly implacable.

A crash of weapons filled my ears, and my breath caught once more.

My flail.

I hadn’t even noticed I’d dropped it. I’d been too worried about Alessa, but it was now in her hands, and its coils had caught the crackling blade of the glaive, stopping it mere inches from Alessa’s heart.

And Alessa’s whole body had begun to glow.


	31. Unkind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessa fights like a girl.

“ _You will not have her!_ ” 

I growled the words out as I strained against the Eldar warrior’s glaive. My whole body was tensed, my muscles were bunched and corded against the unearthly strength of the alien whose weapon I had kept from skewering me by the barest of margins.

The whole world was burning black and gold, and I could feel the surprise radiating off of the Eldar’s aura.

“YOU WILL NOT HAVE HER!” I bellowed, and with a surge of purpose I bull rushed her back, turning the thrust of her glaive so its point skittered haphazardly across the curved plate of my armor.

The weapon scraped a layer of ceramite away, almost scoring through it, but the chapel armour held true. The warrior staggered back with a cry of disbelief as I snapped Isarae’s razorflail straight and then surged forward.

She was fast, there was no doubt about that. This Eldar warrior moved like nothing human. Certainly like nothing _Imperial._

But she wasn’t as fast as Isarae.

I ducked and wove between her strikes, my eyes focused on her aura and especially on her legs.

The glaive chipped and cut at me, but no single blow landed true as I struck out through the Lacerai forms that Isarae had beaten into me.

The Eldar warrior’s shock was as palpable as it was satisfying. They had just fought an Eldar who spoke and acted like an Imperial, only to be forced into combat with an Imperial who fought like an Eldar.

I skipped through the Lacerai forms, avoiding speed and sticking to the ones that kept me grounded. I couldn’t perform any of the aerial maneuvers or the acrobatic leaps in my armour, but my greater weight and the immense strength lent to me by the machine spirit turned the earthbound forms from merely ‘deadly’ into onslaughts of hammering force that cut and notched the Banshee’s guard the same as her strikes were doing to my armour.

We couldn’t remain here though. I had no doubt more reinforcements were on their way, and if they brought anything heavier than infantry then the VTOL would be at risk.

So although I may fight a bit like an Eldar, I am still a daughter of the Emperor. I am still one of the Adeptus Sororitas.

I am a martyr of the faith.

Once, twice, thrice, I struck out, and in the third form I faltered, hoping that in her arrogance the Banshee would not see what was coming as I gave her an opening on my left side.

She took it, thrusting her glaive at my heart, and the angle was such that if I tried to dodge, I would die. If I stayed where I was, I would also die.

So I met the glaive with a charge of my own.

There was no biting back the scream, so I turned it from pain into one of rage as the alien blade split through my pauldron and buried itself in my shoulder. It cauterized flesh with a grotesque hiss of scorched muscle and bone, and the agony was almost blinding. I rode the adrenaline, though, and the Eldar let out an almost comical bark of alarm as my greater weight and momentum tore the glaive from her grip, and before she could rally and find her footing I made my final move.

I didn’t know any of the close combat forms of the razorflail, and since trying to improvise would probably result in me cutting my own arm off, I opted for the next best thing:

I cocked back my arm, and punched her in the face.

My armoured fist crashed into the Eldar’s helm, crazing her eye-lenses with cracks, shattering the mouthpiece of the helm, and, still driven by the grinding, screaming gyros of my shoulder joint, broke her jaw as she was sent flying backward.

Before I could follow up my attack, a barrage of suppressive weapons fire started chewing up the ground around me. 

More of the infantry Eldar were approaching.

I wanted to finish her but it would have been suicide, so instead I turned with a vicious curse and hauled myself up the ramp, slammed the button to close it, and slumped to the ground as I tore the glaive from my ruined arm on an agonised stream of invectives.

The heavy grip of the Astartes bore me up and settled me into one of the seats before pulling the straps around me, and layering me in crash webbing. I looked around dazedly, mentally counting until I'd satisfied myself that my sisters had made it out none the worse for the wear. The Lord Angel was wounded but alive, and I had no doubt his chapter would have sent one of their vaunted apothecaries to tend to them.

And at my side, right where she belonged, was Isarae.

My Isarae.

“That was mad,” Isarae hissed as she leaned towards me as far as the belts and webbing would allow so she could get a look at my arm, only to grimace at what she saw. “You’re going to lose this, you know.”

“Better my arm than my love,” I replied.

Isarae could only shake her head in answer as we settled back into our seats. Sister Superior Danika was uncharacteristically silent on the other side of the cabin, her helmeted gaze fixed squarely on Isarae.

As if sensing my regard, she turned to me, then slowly raised her hands to her gorget and collar, released the seals of her armour, and pulled her helmet away.

To my surprise, Sister Danika did not look any older than I. Perhaps a few years past me, but she lacked the lines of wear and experience that Sister Kalion had possessed. Her face was gently tanned, and a simple black tattoo of the fleur de lis grace her cheek beneath her right eye. The left half of her head was shorn smooth, but the other half was a slightly curly mane of what I imagined was likely the usual white of a Wisteria Sister. 

“Sister Superior.” I bobbed my head as low as I could manage with the straps and the injury to my shoulder.

“How are you still moving?” Danika asked.

Unlike before, there was no vitriol in her tone. Her voice was more curious than anything else. 

“I…” I glanced down at my armour and frowned. “I suppose I was out of the range of the effect, wasn’t I?”

Sister Danika shook her head. “Not if the blast struck the VTOL’s front engines, you weren’t… you ought to have been as disabled as the rest of us.”

I considered her words. She was right, if the explosion radius was wide enough to shut down the main engines and all of the VTOL’s redundancies then there was no way Isarae had thrown me clear of the xeno weapon’s area of effect. Despite that, the chapel armour had functioned perfectly, there hadn’t even been a stutter of disruption in its systems.

“Perhaps the armour of the chapel is guarded against such things,” I reasoned as I turned my right arm this way and that, examining it before giving up and looking back at Sister Danika. “I’m afraid I cannot say why I wasn’t affected, save only that the Emperor Protects.”

A rote chorus of ‘the Emperor Protects’ echoed through the cabin from the lips of my exhausted sisters. As the words faded, though, I saw surprise on the faces of those who had managed to remove their helmets in spite of their dead armour systems as they stared at Isarae.

Her words had echoed right along with all of the others.

“You say that as if you truly believe it, xeno,” Danika said sharply.

“I say only what I know to be true,” Isarae responded. “At the moment of my death, with the Prince of Excess at the door to my soul, the God-Emperor stretched his hand across me to shield me, and beat back the Serpent.”

“Liar,” one of the sisters down the row spat. “The God-Emperor would not protect a vile xeno.”

“And yet, He did,” I replied curtly, “and I would thank you not to assign limitations to the Master of Mankind.”

The Sister flushed red, though from embarrassment or fury I was unsure. A measure of both, most likely.

“Scripture deems all xenos corrupt beyond redemption,” Danika countered.

“And yet is The God-Emperor not all powerful?” I barked, and the Sisters, Danika included, stared. “Is it not by the power of Him On Earth that humans are granted dominion over the galaxy!?” I swept my arms out as my temper rose. “We are tasked by the Golden Throne to extend His light to all corners of the galaxy! Are our hymns not His voice, spread to the ears of the masses?! Are our hands not His hands?! Are we not demanded of to do His work?! And if there is even a single heart darkened by shadows that desires His light within it, then are we not derelict in our duty if we ignore it?!”

“Alessa…” Isarae’s voice was tinged with awe, and I turned to her, confused at her tone.

The rest of my sisters were looking on with equal shock painted across their features. Danika was staring with wide eyes, and even the Lord Angel was regarding me with a powerful intensity.

“What?” I turned back to Isarae, then to my sisters. “What is it?”

Isarae reached out from the crash webbing and laid her palm in my left hand, and on instinct I curled my hand around hers, lacing our fingers together and squeezing in that faint, familiar way to reassure her that I was there, and to reassure myself that she was close.

Then it hit me.

I squeezed her hand.

With my left hand.

I turned slowly to look at my arm. Even through my psychic sight I could see power hemorrhaging off of me only to curl back around me and diving into the wound at my shoulder. It occurred to me only then that during my rant I’d been gesticulating with both arms, completely ignoring the grievous wound I’d been dealt mere moments ago.

The pain was gone, the agony had faded completely, and a cursory check of the damage showed clean, unblemished flesh through the rent in the armour where the Banshee’s glaive had pierced.

I had been made whole.

“A miracle of faith.” The thunderous basso of the Lord Angel cut through my shock. “It is rare, but I have seen such a thing before… once.”

“When was that, Lord Antares,” Danika asked, her voice tight with uncertainty.

The Lord Angel regarded me silently for several moments before turning away to look down at Danika. As he did there was a faint cough from his armour as his systems restarted and his movements smoothed out save for where the seals and joints had suffered damage.

“I saw this light during the Indomitus Crusade when I fought alongside Saint Celestine.”

* * *

The rest of the flight was passed largely in silence.

The Lord Astartes’ statement regarding the Living Saint was one that sat poorly with me. I was not anything like the Revered Lady Celestine, I was certainly not saintly. I had called upon the God-Emperor in a moment of grief and desperate faith, and he had answered, but that did not a saint create. 

I was far from the only who had cried out for divine guidance and been answered.

Still, there was a small benefit in that Sister Superior Danika had finally stopped needling Isarae and had settled instead for a consistent, unsubtle glower. The rest of my sisters spent the flight continued stealing uncomfortably awestruck glances at me, no doubt thinking they might be in the presence of the next Living Saint.

Unfortunately, I was going to disappoint them.

A Living Saint was an embodiment of the ideals of the Sororitas. They were living investitures of the God-Emperor’s love and fury. They were not a barely blooded Sister Novitiate who managed to fall in love with the first xeno who said something other than waaagh to her.

Not that I regretted that bit.

I squeezed Isarae’s hand gently, and she turned to smile back at me. Even in the half-light psychic vision I was granted by the God-Emperor when He took my sight, I could still see the subtle, lovely curve of my dear Isarae’s smile, and I counted that amongst my greatest blessings.

“You sicken me.”

And there was Sister Danika again.

“Your state of distress is not my concern,” I replied.

“But the way you look at that _thing_ with such blatantly foul adoration is mine,” Danika said in a dark tone that set the hushed whispers that had been rippling around the cabin into silence.

A subtle change in the craft's velocity and altitude curtailed any response, and I felt the telltale vertigo of my stomach dropping that came rapid vertical descent. We must have reached the Priory of Gardens by now, and I was very much looking forward to seeing myself cleaned and the armour of the chapel reconsecrated.

Hopefully a crew of guardsmen, or even a squad of my own sisters, could be sent back to the habspire that Isarae and I had been living in to reclaim the remains of my personal wargear. It pained me that I had to leave it behind, but there was nothing for it. We had barely escaped with our lives.

The VTOL rocked as the landing gear deployed and the aircraft came to rest in the Priory’s hangar, and the moment the ship was stable Lord Antares hammered the release for the ramp.

I worked the catches loose on the straps and pulled myself out the crash webbing before turning to help Isarae with her own. The webbing she could manage but with her battered arm she couldn’t quite manage the release on the central securement.

“My thanks, Alessa,”Isarae said softly as she stood.

The moment she was on her feet I removed the razorflail from around my waist where I had been wearing it since I’d retreated from the Eldar, and held it out to her.

“Thank you for this,” I replied with a smile.

“You fought beautifully,” Isarae said as she took it back and wove it around her waist. “If a bit… unorthodox.”

“Half of the forms require me to move in ways that power armour does not strictly allow,” I admitted. “I understand now why you wear so little armour… even the limited forms I used stressed the joints of the armour almost to breaking.”

She took my hand as she moved past me and we walked down the ramp together. I didn’t need her help for it, but it didn’t matter. Having her hand in mine was the point. Moreover, it was a symbol to each of the sisters watching us that neither of us feared judgment, nor were we ashamed of one another.

“Go no further.” Sister Danika’s voice was punctuated by the rack of a bolter feed and the soft click of an oiled safety dropping.

She was not alone, either.

Behind us a half-dozen sisters followed their Sister Superior’s lead, unlocking their bolters and raising them to sight down at Isarae and I and the bottom of the debarkation ramp.

I did not need to turn my head. My perceptions went where I focused, and it was an effort but I could effectively see behind me as accurately as in front. It was a touch vertiginous and felt deeply unnatural, but I could not deny it was useful.

As expected, the only one of the figures behind me who was certain of themselves was Danika herself. The rest of the sisters had auras crazed by lines of teal uncertainty. They had seen something in me that I was certain was not there, but regardless of the truth, they believed in the suggestions of the Lord Angel, that I may wield the power of a Living Saint.

I could deny such a status til the God-Emperor stood from the Throne but it was doubtful to be a meaningful use of my time.

Frak it.

“Do you think that will harm me?” I asked.

Unlike Danika, I chose to take a lesson from Sister Kalion’s book. We did not get along, but I always respected Sister Kalion as both a leader and personally. She never raised her voice, her tone was firm, cool, and had the projection of a practiced orator, but it was never a yell or a shout.

She spoke, and people listened.

I kept my tone even and let the words spill out from deep in my chest, and the empty hanger echoed quietly with the force of my voice. It was a nice acoustic effect, actually.

Their auras splintered further, and I stood fast. I could not show weakness or uncertainty. I couldn’t give Danika or her squad even a moment of suspicion that I was not absolute in my certainty.

If I did, we were both dead.

“Your souls burn with the light of the God-Emperor,” I continued, and I watched their hesitation bleed through Danika’s rank and file. “It is beautiful, sisters, and I wish you could all see as I do… with sight as the God-Emperor blessed me with. A soul like golden fire is within every one of you, just as it is within me, and as it is within her.”

I made a slight nod to Isarae.

“You dare ascribe a soul to that thing?!” Danika’s voice cracked with barely contained fury.

“It is from the God-Emperor that we are given our all, is it not?” I asked, still refusing to face them.

“That’s-!”

“I have laid eyes upon the divine, Danika.” Now I turned, and I fixed her as accurately as possibly with my blind eyes opened wide so there could be no mistake. “Do not doubt that my blindness is a gift of Him On Earth, and that He has blessed me in ways you cannot understand.”

That much, at least, is true.

The God-Emperor blessed me with Isarae’s life, and her continued love.

They would never understand that.

“ENOUGH!”

I turned away from Danika, anchoring my perceptions back to my physical direction, and saw a host of golden-aura’d figures crossing the hangar towards us. At the center was a luminous figure, female, and burning with devotion and purity. Her soul seemed to carry the _fleur de lis_ of the Order within it, and I knew immediately who I must be standing before.

“Bow!” I hissed _sotto voce_ to Isarae as I dropped to a knee and bowed my head low. I was gratified to see Isarae follow suit less than a breath behind me.

“What of our firing squad?” Isarae asked from the corner of her mouth.

“They will not open fire in front of the Canonness,” I replied quietly.

“Sister Novitiate Alessandra Artus,” the lead sister spoke with the power of practice and authority. Hers was a voice that was accustomed to obedience, and for good reason.

“Greetings, Blessed Sister,” I replied in kind. “I am honored by thy presence and attention, Canonness Utena, and it is my honor to give myself to thy service if thou wouldst have me.”

Utena was a warrior of superlative skill. Her swordplay was the stuff of legend, and her fervor no less so. She was a tall, spare, and pale woman made of lean, sharp lines from the shoulder-length and blade's-edge-straight cut of her hair to her razor sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were said to be the most fetching shade of blue, like the spring sky above the Convent Arborea, but I couldn’t be certain, but what I did know was that whatever their color, they bore an unrivaled intensity to them.

“I would, as it happens,” the Canonness replied, and I couldn’t help but note the slightly wry tone of her voice.

“Canonness Ut-!” Danika started but she cut off as Utena fixed her with sharp, withering glare.

“Stand down, Sister Superior,” Canonness Utena commanded in a soft, steelshod tone. “See to your sisters and to your wargear, these two are both guests of the Priory of Gardens henceforth.”

That was a surprise even to me. I had expected to have to argue my and Isarae’s case ad nauseam once we reached the Priory. I hadn’t expected the direct intervention of the Canonness herself unless it was to order a summary execution, which was obviously the worst case scenario.

Having no less than a Canonness declare that not only myself but Isarae as _guests_ of the Priory was… unusual. It served to make me suspicious more than to reassure me, and from Isarae’s aura I reckoned on her agreement.

Danika was properly put out though.

“The… the xenobreed is… w-what?” Danika sounded as though some vital part of her brain had suffered a violent malfunction and now the other less used parts were trying desperately to take up the slack.

“The Emperor Tarot has declared her vital to our success,” Utena said sternly. “That is all you need to know, now, you are _dismissed_ , Sister Superior.”

For a moment I was certain I was about to witness Danika suffer a major coronary event right there in the hanger, but after a moment of going several interesting shades of red and purple she lowered her bolter, saluted, and ordered her squad to do the same before falling out in good, if stiff, order.

Isarae watched her go with what to most would seem like a perfectly neutral expression, but my time with her had taught me how to see the smugness in her, even without the clues from her aura, and as she caught my blind gaze it was a struggle not to share a laugh.

We kept our humor private, though, and turned our attention back to the Canonness who was still watching us carefully. 

“Thank you for your intervention, Canonness,” I said after a moment of silence. “I would be happy to provide you a full report of what brought us to this… unusual circumstance.”

“That would be helpful,” Utena said curtly. “Especially since our astropaths and seers continue to turn up the same patterns in Emperor’s Tarot with over ninety per cent accuracy, suggesting it is the direct will of Him On Earth that we work alongside an Eldar.”

“The Emperor Protects,” Isarae intoned, and Canonness Utena raised a single, perfect eyebrow at Isarae’s respectful tone. “The Master of Mankind gave me new life and new purpose, and if He declares that purpose to be in service to you then I shall see it done.”

“Interesting.” Canonness Utena took a step back and turned, gesturing for us to follow. “Come… I have much to discuss with the both of you.”


	32. Vino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae drinks and learns things.

The halls were silent. 

I scanned left and right by instinct as we walked through the halls of the Priory, covering Alessa’s flank as I did. She noticed, too, from the lilt of her lips that were curving to a gentle smile just small enough that only I would notice it.

Over the short amount of time that she, and I, had been growing accustomed to her altered vision, I had begun to appreciate how she could see.

Alessa once described her sight as a form of all-encompassing awareness, but despite that awareness, she still had a limited scope of attention. That, she likened, to looking through a broad tube or glass because, in order for her to focus on anything in particular, she had to blinker herself to the wider range of her perceptions.

I had not mentioned it, but that thought left me wondering if perhaps, with training, she could learn to focus on more than just her familiar, sighted range.

To have full perceptions in a complete radius around herself would make her a formidable threat on the battlefield, one who could not be taken by surprise except by the greatest effort.

For now, I contented myself with doing my duty to Alessa and to the God-Emperor. So I followed Alessa’s Canoness; a tall, spare woman she called ‘Utena’ and whom she treated with a deference that suggested she was not only highly ranked, but had earned that rank through battle.

Certainly, I could feel the strength of her spirit even from better than a dozen paces away.

Facing her in battle would certainly be a singular experience, and one that I placed in the back of my mind. Perhaps the Canoness would deign to spar with me one of these days should time permit, once my leg and arm had time to fully heal.

The bastard Asuryani ranger’s shot had taken me in the meat of my shoulder, fortunately, so that was healing quickly thanks to altered biology and implants. The speed was such that I almost regretted killing my haemonculus; cretin that he was, I could not deny his skill.

The damage to my kneecap was frustratingly slower, however, and it was taking a great deal of effort to walk without a limp. Doing so in the presence of Alessa and her Canoness was not a humiliation I was willing to endure, though.

Pain was much preferable.

“Canoness, may I ask something?” Alessa broke the silence, which had until then been punctuated only by the clang of power-armoured bootsoles from Utena and her squad, along with Alessa herself.

“Ask,” Utena replied curtly.

“The Priory… how many are we?”

There was a tremor of barely perceptible tension that fluttered through Utena’s guards, although the Canoness herself remained remarkably stoic.

“Including the reinforcements from the Convent Arboria, we number just over six hundred sisters, not including ancillary support,” Utena said after a moment.

I wasn’t familiar with the organisation or disposition of Alessa’s orders, but to my ears that did not sound like many, and it certainly didn’t sound like _enough_. The expression of horror that crossed Alessa’s face at the Canoness’s words confirmed my suspicions as she worked her jaw for a moment before finally responding.

“How many of Canoness Priscilla’s commandery survived the drop?” Alessa’s tone was hoarse, and suggested that while she had to ask, she would rather not know.

I closed a little distance between us, enough to take her hand and slip my fingers between hers. Her armoured grip tightened gently around mine, and she shot me a quick and grateful look.

Canoness Utena paused, and her guard ceased their lockstep march at the same moment. Alessa almost stumbled at the sudden cessation, and I had to grip her hand to keep her from plowing directly into the Canoness’s back. After a moment, Utena gave a curt order for her guards to remain in place before gesturing to the door we’d stopped next to.

“Let us not speak of this in the hall, please,” Utena said quietly, passing her gauntlet over a reader by the door which opened with a soft hiss.

The interior was as much a chapel as it was a stateroom. A large shrine dominated the far end of the room depicting the Emperor in Glory, His arms wide and hands spread to accept the souls of the faithful into His eternal embrace. I paused at the sight of it as I followed Alessa inside, my heart struck still by the sight, and after a moment I raised my hands into the sign of the Aquila.

Alessa was doing the same thing, I noticed, and Utena watched the both of us with frank curiosity before turning to the shrine and making the same motion with a muttered prayer.

“Do not stand on propriety on my account,” Utena said as she stepped away from us, turning to the large desk at the other side of the room that was flanked by a pair of shelves packed to bursting with what looked like holy texts and treatises.

I made a mental note to ask to borrow a few of them.

“Canoness…” Alessa started quietly as she followed until she stood on the other side of Utena’s desk while the Canoness seated herself.

“Sit, Sister Alessandra,” Utena repeated, and this time it was less a request than an order as she gestured at one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs.

Alessa looked between the chair and the Canoness, then nodded, dragged the chair forward with a cacophonous shriek, and settled into it. I took my place just behind her, a hand settled evenly on her shoulder for comfort.

“Of the two-hundred strong commandery under the late Canoness Priscilla, Emperor rest her soul, only nine squads remain,” Utena said simply.

For a brief moment, the air was utterly still.

Alessa’s expression was one of rank disbelief which morphed quickly into despair as she sagged in her seat. From our conversations, I’d gathered that a squad rarely consisted of more than five to seven sisters at any given time. That would suggest no more than sixty or so at the outside had survived the descent into Amphitria, and that was being _extremely_ generous.

“Nine squads…” Alessa breathed, her voice hitching. “Nine… only nine remain?”

I closed my eyes, weathering the waves of grief that flowed from Alessa. That reason then, all of the losses they must have taken, was why the Priory seemed so quiet.

Utena nodded, then reached beneath her desk, and there was a sound of something shuffling, then the clinking of glass, then a trio of thick crystal tumblers were set down between us, followed by a heavy, dark decanter. Silently, Utena removed the cap from it and poured a generous measure of the contents into each glass before replacing the cap, setting the decanter aside, and taking up her glass.

“I assure you the news does not improve from here,” Utena stated blandly, gesturing with her glass as she did. “I advise you both to take up a glass, as we are _all_ going to need it.”

With that, Utena takes a long pull from her glass, draining the entirety of it in a single swig before setting it down. I pick up a glass of my own and sniff at the contents before nodding at the delightfully smoky scent and taking a tentative sip.

Alessa picked up her own glass and knocked the entire thing back even faster than Utena had. When she lowers the glass, the expression on her face is both hard and miserable, and I can’t help but raise a hand to brush my knuckles along Alessa’s cheek and she leans into my touch with visible gratitude.

That analytical expression crossed Utena’s face again, and she turned to me this time.

“You are Druchi,” she stated, rather than asked. “One whom your kind call a ‘Wych’ if I am not mistaken.”

“I was, honored Canoness,” I replied with a small bow.

She rested her chin on steepled fingers as she regarded me with a piercing blue gaze. Unsure as to what to say, I said nothing. It was clear Utena was undecided on how to regard me, which was understandable. Even with Alessa vouching for me, and the apparent support from the divining talents of the Imperium’s crude psykers, I was still xenos.

I was still _Aeldari._

Instead, I met her regard with my own, and found myself surprised by how… ordinary she seemed. Canoness Utena was a lean, fair woman, even in her power armour, with features that might have been chiseled from smooth marble until they had a knife’s edge. Her hair, bone-white like most of the others of Alessa’s order, fell straight and neat to just past her shoulders, terminating to a perfectly even cut. Her skin was the pale tone of most Hiveborn that I had seen in my lifetime, their complexion stemming as it did from a combination of genetics and lack of natural light.

The eyes though.

I kept coming back to her eyes.

Canoness Utena’s eyes were the striking silver-blue of plasma fire. In fact, her eyes were so bright that they hardly seemed human at all.

“Interesting,” Utena said finally before leaning back in her chair and folding her hands in front of her. “I expected to see some hint of lie or guile in your eyes, but were I to ignore their inhuman shape and the face they belong to, I would swear I was looking into the eyes of one of my beloved sisters by zeal alone.”

“With respect, honored Canoness,” I said, crossing an arm over my chest and bowing low. “I confess I expected a much harsher welcome than I’ve received from Alessa’s blessed sisterhood.”

“Had this been any other time, that expectation would have been well founded, Druchi,” Utena said grimly. “However, as a loyal daughter of His Divine Majesty, I cannot deny that His will is clear in this instance. For whatever purpose and reasoning, such that is not mine to decide, He has willed that you are to be our ally against the green invader.”

“Isarae.”

Alessa’s voice was hard as she raised her head. 

I felt as much as saw the surprise on Utena’s face at the steel fury etched across Alessa’s beautiful features. Blind eyes were effervescing with a faint glimmer of gold as she fixed Utena with her unseeing glare.

“Her name is _Isarae_ , not _Druchi_ ,” Alessa hissed. On the heels of her words, Alessa visibly mastered herself before adding- “honored Canoness.”

“Interesting.” Utena met Alessa’s glare with an evaluating look, before turning back to me. “Isarae, then?”

“If it pleases you, honored Canoness,” I bow my head again. “I am well aware of my impurity.”

“That’s-!” Alessa turned to me, but I forestalled her outburst with a hand on her shoulder.

“I am as I am,” I replied quietly, turning to regard Alessa with a smile. “The God-Emperor, blessed be His name, granted me mercy despite my nature, not because of it. I am not ashamed of that.”

Alessa took my hand in both of hers, enclosing it in her armoured grip with more softness than I would have expected from the hard ceramite gauntlets. She took a slow, shuddering breath, let it out, and nodded before turning back to Utena.

“What of the Prioress?” Alessa continued. “Prioress Ventalia was supposed to be granted overall command once Canoness Priscilla made landfall.”

“Ventalia is dead,” Utena said bluntly, and Alessa’s jaw dropped. “The Prioress fell in battle with the Greenskin’s leader while securing reinforcements. It is by her blood that even nine squads of your commandery were saved. Since then the Priory of Gardens has been under the shared command of I and Canoness Anthia, and shall remain so until the Abbess Arborea anoints a new Prioress.”

“Prioress Ventalia fought the Warboss?” I asked quizzically. “Then you’ve seen the creature?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Utena said with a grimace. “This Warboss is unlike any other we have faced. It is _not_ a normal Ork, even by the standards of a Warboss. It’s clever and, even worse, capable of stealth.”

“I beg your pardon?” Alessa barked. “A stealthy Ork is like saying-”

“-an Imperial Eldar?” Utena’s reply was one that carried a quirk of a smile, and Alessa flushed and she clamped her mouth shut. “You may be strong of faith, but you are still a newblood, Sister Alessa… there _are_ certain subbreeds of Ork that use stealth, called ‘Kommando’ in their heathen tongue, but for one to rise to the point of leading a Waaagh is all but unheard of.”

Utena’s face fell as she spoke, and her words faltered. Leaning back in her chair, I watched as a wave of conflict passed her sharp and graceful features.

“It is my great shame that Ventalia’s death was sealed while Anthia and I were less than a meter from her,” Utena said through a clenched jaw. “We had thought the fight to be going well despite the losses, but as we were passing the wreckage of a Killa Kan, Ventalia paused… I think it was this that preserved her life initially, and looking back I realise my mistake.”

“You could not recall that Kan being destroyed?” I ventured, and Utena gave a grim chuckle as she nodded.

“Indeed.” Utena nodded and sighed. “It occurred near the end of the battle…”

* * *

* * *

Mass bolter fire roared across the ruin of the Governance. The district containing the great, gleaming spires that once held the seven noble lines of Amphitria, including that of the Lord Governor herself, was a scorched husk, and the spires were burning from the inside out even as the Greenskins crawled through them like maggots.

“Ignore the looters!” Prioress Ventalia snapped across the com network as she overlooked the Plaza Imperialis. “Fourth, fifth, and eighth companies, focus suppressive fire on the Greenskin hordes! Bring our sisters of the Convent into the grace of our defensive line!”

A bellow of assent echoed across the tacnet as the frontage realigned and the thunder of bolters began again in concert.

“First company! Reform on me!” Ventalia marched forward, and I with her.

At my side my four Celestian guard, two with heavy bolters, and two with powered blades and heavy shields, marched. Opposite me and guarding Ventalia’s flank was Canoness Anthia, whose own Celestian’s were only three in number, the fourth having been cut down by an unfortunate bolter shot from afar that breached her visor at the beginning of the battle.

A one in a million shot.

Sour luck, that.

Perhaps it was a sign from the Emperor that our advance was ill-fated, but the Prioress refused to permit our sisters from the Convent Arborea to die behind enemy lines, cut off from support. She led the spear thrust that pierced through boulevards that the Orks had taken in their initial push using a combination of Hellhound AFV’s, elements of the 16th Amphitrian Fusiliers, and the four full commanderies of the Priory, leaving only one to guard the Priory itself.

Since that initial set of losses, though, our advance had been hard-fought, but successful. The Orks fought as their kind always do, with hooting, barbarous glee, hammering our lines heedless of their own losses. Every sister could count twenty or more Orks to her tally before falling, and yet there was no sign of abatement.

One thing I had learned fighting these beasts was that no matter how many you killed, there are _always_ more Orks.

“Prioress! We are overextending!” Anthia said over our command channel. Her gentle voice was, as always, a balm to my soul in battle, but it belied a subtle strength and unyielding faith. “We should pull back what elements we can, or we risk being outflanked!”

As much as I hated the notion of retreat, I could not deny Anthia’s point. The Ork’s outnumbered us a thousand to one. No matter how skilled we were, or how graced our wargear, if we continued our push they would encircle us.

“There are three squads still isolated,” Ventalia replied curtly. “We shall not leave our sisters to the depredations of the green invader!” She paused, though, despite her words. “Yet, your discretion is wise. Sister Anthia, Sister Utena, give the orders to begin mop up and extraction, but bring us Mistress Juri and her Repentia, along with two squads of Seraphim. Together we will strike through the Greenskin line to link up with the last of the Convent, and pull out from there.”

“Yes, Prioress!” Anthia and I barked in unison, before giving the orders.

Our forces divided and gathered as we gave our commands, and within moments two Seraphim squads along with Juri and her forty Sisters Repentia had gathered before us.

“Juri,” Ventalia began stepping forward and holding out a hand to the Mistress of Repentance, and she took a knee, bowing her head. “Thy Repentia seek the absolution of death, and so thou shalt be the tip and edges of our blade thrust into the heart the Greenskins.”

“My Penitents will not falter,” Juri swore, her grip tightening around the haft of her neural whip. “We shall be the scourge of the Emperor’s wrath.”

She stood and turned to the massed Repentia, whose eyes burned bright with the fever of faith. I cannot deny that a part of me yearned to join them. To feel the cleansing scourge as I charged headlong into the enemy with only the song of death beating in my ears.

“Sisters! ABSOLUTION IS AT HAND!” Juri roared, and the Repentia howled back at her. “Go forth and know that the God-Emperor loves all martyrs! His arms await thee beyond the blades and bolters of the foe! Think not of life! For your life is His! Think not of mercy! For His mercy is death!”

Juri lashed the front lines of the Repentia with her neural whip and they bolted forward, the crimson penitent scriptures affixed to their bodies were flapping like pennants in the wind as their great chain eviscerators roared to life. Four waves in all, and Juri with her whip snapping like a furious serpent, crashed towards an isolated section of the plaza where a hivefall from a collapsing spire had created a makeshift barricade where the three squads had holed up to defend themselves.

Where the Repentia struck, the Orks hooted and snarled, rushing forward and thickening the line. As they did, Ventalia gave the order for the Seraphim to spread their fiery wings. They took to the skies on jets of flame, chainblades humming as they hammered into the rear of the line while mine and Anthia’s Celestians covered them with heavy bolter fire. 

As expected, the Ork line shuddered, buckled, and then broke under the fury of the Repentia and the disciplined rear strikes of the Seraphim.

Ventalia bellowed a cry of ‘ _CHARGE!_ ’ and advanced with her curved, single-edged power blade bare and gleaming as she led us into battle. 

Anthia and I drew our blades and struck the line like the fury of the Emperor, cutting down the armoured ‘Ard Boys, who flocked around the large, brutish Nobs that were braying and brow-beating the local horde into something resembling coherence. We did our duty and, with our Celestians and aid from Juri and her Repentia, we peeled enough of the ‘Ard Boys away for Ventalia to strike through the breach and engage the two biggest Nobs. She struck down one within the space of the breath, bisecting it from the right clavicle to the groin and spilled it to the ground in a stinking wash of gore before turning to the other.

The fight was not long, but it was frantic. Many of the Repentia fell, blessed in death, and as we fought, the three squads of the Convent saw us and took up their own charge, striking out from their defensive post and joining the fray on the opposite end, shattering the cohesion of the Greenskin mass.

Or at least… so we thought.

Looking back now, I realise that was entirely the point. The squads were too well entrenched to be rooted out by anything but concentrated effort and terrible losses by the Greenskins. By allowing us close enough to give them hope of reprieve, the Warboss was able to strike us all down in a single, telling blow.

“Advance! Advance!” Crowed Ventalia as she cut through the last of the Nobs. “Canonesses to me!” 

Our squad formed up around Ventalia, Anthia and I both on the lookout for more Greenskins as we made our way closer to the three squads who were fighting their way through the splintering Greenskins.

“Anthia, tap into their vox network and link their highest-ranking officer into our command channel,” Ventalia ordered, and Anthia immediately began doing so. “Utena, move to defensive posture and keep our route clear.”

“Yes, Prioress.” I nodded and relayed the orders as we passed the burnt husk of one of the Ork walkers.

I grimaced in disgust at the crude thing. It was nothing like the noble machines of the Emperor in His aspect as the Omnissiah.

Even as I dismissed it from my thoughts, though, Ventalia paused before passing it. Her gaze falling over it for a moment, and I swear I heard a quiet intake of breath, as if she were about to shout an order.

The order never made it past her lips as the front panel formed into the snarling visage of one of the Greenskins’ heathen gods exploded outward. The detonations were, I think, shaped charges of some kind, from the volume and smoke, and out of the empty shell came one of the largest, most ferocious-looking Orks I’ve ever seen.

It was nearly black, with the top half of its skull little more than a mass of cybernetic coils linking into its head, and its eye was a single, unblinking red orb of terrible manufacture. Augmetic implants littered the creature’s body, but neither those, nor the eye, were what drew my gaze.

Its weapons did.

They were two, immense power blades, bigger than I had ever seen, and even one of the Emperor’s Angels would have required two hands to wield one effectively.

One sweep cut down three of my Celestians, who dropped screaming, bisected at the waist and torso as the thing bolted past. It’s second sweep took two more, and then it was past our line.

I could barely countenance it. Orks were burly, brutish, and plodding, but even those that were quick were only fast in the manner of an animal. This Ork moved with its churlish warcry on its tongue like a bolt of black lightning, such that neither I nor Anthia were able to react with anything but shock.

Even Ventalia wasn’t able to defend herself swiftly enough. Despite the creature tearing through our line, Ventalia had only just managed to raise her blade, parrying one mighty blow and sending hissing cracks of impossible pressure across her armour.

A scream and the sound of tortured ceramite followed the parry as the Greenskin severed Ventalia’s left arm with a spiraling strike. It laughed glutinously as it swung lazily at Anthia, who raised her blade, caught the strike and was lifted bodily from her feet and sent sailing better than four meters away. The other blade swept out and struck down the last Celestian as she tried to turn her cumbersome heavy bolter on the beast, but was foiled by its weight, poor angle, and the nearness of her foe.

Her head and most of her shoulders fell away from the rest of her.

“GO!” Ventalia roared through the vox as she lunged forward, and struck with her blade. “Fall back, Utena! We are undone!” 

Rarely have I seen such courage and skill displayed in a single moment. Even near-blind with pain and missing an arm, Ventalia struck out like a woman possessed, her blade flashing as she attacked the titanic, laughing Ork. He lashed out at her with both blades, over and over, and she turned and spoiled every strike and slash.

I gave the order, but even as I did I was horrified to realise there were Orks erupting from every pile of rubble and blown out section of building, each of them daubed and painted to blend into the urban ruin. Sisters fell en masse to surprise attacks as our forces that had been gathering to fall back behind us were suddenly engaged and harried from all sides by an entirely new horde.

Bellowing Ventalia’s orders, I fell back to Anthia to guard her as she rose, stunned, from where she had fallen. Her blade was cracked neatly in two from the blow it had taken, and she cast out away as she staggered to my side. Her power armour was hissing and spitting, the noble machine spirit grievously injured but refusing to give in until its mistress was safe.

As I got an arm under my beloved Anthia, I heard the beast's voice for the first time.

“HA!” The Ork barked as a mighty blow sent Ventalia’s blade flying to skitter at my feet, and its second strike skewered her through the middle.

I screamed her name, howling my grief even as the Ork laughed.

“You wuz a good fight,” he rumbled, raising Ventalia’s spitted body like a piece of meat on its blade until the Ork was looking right at her visor. “Gotchu good, didn’t I? Warboss Kritrig’s da sneakiest Ork, ain’t’ee?”

With her remaining arm, Ventalia reached up to her helm seals and undid them, pulling them free and letting her pale hair flow free. Her grim, gray eyes met the Ork’s single, red orb.

And she spat in it.

“HA!” Kritrig belted again. “Shame you’z dead, I’da liked ta fight you again!”

“RUN!” Ventalia howled just as Kritrig wrapped his enormous paw around her head, and tore it from her shoulders.

* * *

* * *

“...it was only thanks to Juri’s Repentia staying behind to fend off the Orks that any of us got out,” Utena finished quietly.

The story had left both of us rattled, enough so that by the time Utena had finished the decanter was empty. I had fought Orks many times before and encountered Kommandos on occasion, but I’d never, even in all my centuries of warfare, fought a Kommando who had risen to the rank of Warboss.

It was a notion that unsettled even me.

“And worse, we failed to rescue the three squads,” Utena said, leaning back in her chair again. “They were a trap all along. Kritrig had left them there to draw us further in, to force us to strike forward for them knowing we wouldn’t just let them die. Then he nearly wiped us out.”

“And in doing so, crippled the Sisters of the Priory, slew our ranking commander, and dealt us a harsh blow to our morale,” Alessa finished.

“Aye,” Utena agreed. “Of the eight hundred sisters we left with, we returned with barely half that number, and that was including the squads we saved… and less our Prioress, which was the most grievous blow of all.”

“What of the Praelexian Dragoons?” Alessa asked. “They sent a full regiment.”

“They have held their ground faithfully,” Utena replied, but shook her head. “But they have suffered terrible losses as well. Their regimental headquarters was bombed twelve cycles ago, killing most of their command element, since then Anthia and I have taken overall command.”

“The Warboss,” I said grimly, and Utena nodded. “He’s a formidable foe… even my kind would be hard-pressed to predict his tactics.”

“He does not fight like an Ork,” Utena said. “He fights like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Steepling her fingers once more, Utena regarded Alessa and I carefully before nodding to herself.

“Now that you know the situation you’ve stepped into…” Utena shifts her gaze to me for a moment, then back to Alessa. “Tell me how it is you came to convert an Eldar Wych to the worship of Him On Earth.”


	33. Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessa picks a fight.

The halls were silent.

It was deep into the night cycle, though, so I suppose that was to be expected. Still, it had taken us nearly the entirety of the cycle to exchange situation reports with Utena, and by the time Isarae and I left her office, only the evening guard remained on duty, and they were a skeleton crew at best.

“The situation is far direr than I expected,” I said quietly as we made our way to the quarters Utena had assigned us. “But now I understand how my sisters of the Convent were taken so badly off-guard when we landed.”

“Orks rarely strike in stealth,” Isarae agreed. “Which makes the times that they do all the more effective for their rarity.”

I could only nod.

When it had first happened I couldn’t fathom how we had fallen so quickly and decisively. To know that our company was not the only one to be struck with such tactics, and that the enemy Warboss was such an unusual foe, brought a perverse kind of comfort to me.

“Alessa?” Isarae’s tone carried a query and I turned my head, though it was more to show that I was listening than because I needed to. “What of your armour?”

“Ah,” I looked down at the Chapel Armour, and more pointedly at the pauldron which had caught the Eldar’s powered thrust, and sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to call one of the sister-armourers to our quarters to have it removed and sanctified before the rites of repair can begin.”

Isarae frowned at that, and the expression sent a flutter of apprehension through me.

“‘Rae?” I took her hand in mine, stopping in the hall and stepping in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

Her lovely brow furrowed for a moment, then she sighed and shook her head.

“It is foolish,” Isarae said quietly.

“Not if saddens you, my love,” I countered. “Tell me what’s wrong, please?”

Isarae sighed again, removing her hands from mine and placing them on either side of my face. Her thumbs traced along my cheeks and under my eyes, the pad of her thumb hesitating over my _fleur de lis_ tattoo for a moment, before finally she pulled me close and pressed her lips to mine with a furious passion.

I am a bit embarrassed to admit I may have squeaked around her lips in surprise, but I melted against her the same as I always did. The softness of her lips, and the taste of them, were something I would never have enough of.

When we parted, she was looking down into my eyes with something like anger.

“I do not want another woman’s hands upon you, Alessa,” she admitted, and my breath caught in my chest at her words.

In truth, I’d never considered it. The act of removing my armour had only ever been a ceremonial one. Serfs of the Convent Arborea, usually those who had tried to become sisters but had not been able to endure the training, served as they were able to by supporting the Adeptus Sororitas in various ancillary roles. One of those roles was as a ritual armourer, and it was considered one of the greatest honors as it was the closest they would get to wearing the sacred wargear. 

But now that Isarae had said it out loud, I found the notion of another woman, even only a serf, laying her hands upon me to be… unpleasant.

“Would your sisterhood permit me to learn the necessary rites myself?” Isarae said after a moment.

“I… I’m not certain,” I admitted. “But I will speak to Canoness Utena, she could provide the holy orders if it _were_ possible.”

Isarae nodded at that.

“And until then, I’ll manage it myself with your help,” I continued, smiling. “There are some parts a layperson can aid with, it will just take longer.”

“If you are willing,” Isarae said with a hint of gratitude as she leaned down to rest her forehead against mine. “Thank you, _Cre’yth._ ”

I could not keep the smile from my face. Her presence, her words, her touch… they were all immeasurably comforting to me. How I lived without Isarae before this, I do not know, but what a dull, gray life it must have been.

Now, despite my vision having been washed away in shades of black and gold, my world was so much brighter. Even blind, I can still smell her, and although I miss the sunrise quality of her hair and those haunting wisteria eyes, I still had her, and better yet I had her love.

As she had mine.

We made our way to the dormitories, and I tried not to think on just how empty they were. True, it meant that we were able to reach our quarters without trouble from my sisters, although I wagered from the glares that most were none-too-happy with the arrangement, but it also meant that my order was sorely wounded.

I would have endured a dozen Danikas if it meant that the Priory garrison was still hale and full.

Regardless of the looks, though, I walked hand-in-hand with Isarae, and on the one occasion she made to take her hand from mine and move behind me, putting herself in a more subservient position, I stopped her with a hard grip.

“Let them look,” I said under my breath as we passed through a mess hall full of glaring sisters. “The God-Emperor has already judged us, my love. Their opinions are not the greater of His.”

“As you say,” Isarae replied quietly.

It was a relief to finally reach our quarters, and I found myself chuckling as I noted the presence of two beds.

As if we would use them.

There was an armament stand in the corner with all the necessary sacred oils, a dresser containing a few extra bodygloves, and an ablutionary chamber attached to the side that would be snug for the both of us, but I imagined we could make it work.

It would feel too odd to bathe without Isarae now, and I found myself missing the bath in our little Spirehab home as much as I had thought I would.

“Come,” I said, striding over to the armour stand. “Let me teach you what I can.”

Over the course of the next hour, I walked Isarae through the proper rites and prayers, and where to apply the oils she was permitted to touch, and what she had to wait for me to get to. As I predicted, it took far longer than it would have had I simply called in an armourer, but the comfort of going through these motions with Isarae was more than equal to the extra time spent.

The devotion, care, and love with which Isarae handled the sacred armour, and the faith in her tone when she spoke the simple rites, made the ritual feel all the stronger.

I massaged my arms as Isarae settled the last piece in place on the armour stand, running a rag laden with sacred oils over it as she did. My body was feeling much stronger now than it in weeks, but I was still sore. Between healing from my wounds I’d earned prior to meeting Isarae and recovering from the warpshock of interceding for her soul, I’d put my body through quite a lot lately.

All worth it, of course, I thought as I turned my attention to Isarae, and my heart swelled at the aura of faith that was blooming from her soul.

Isarae stood as the final rites were completed, and she very nearly hid her wince as she did so. 

“Are there any further rites, Alessa?” She asked.

“No, although the armourers will have to repair the pauldron and joints tomorrow,” I replied. “Our next task is you, ‘Rae.”

She furrowed her brow.

“I am-”

“Please don’t lie to me, ‘Rae,” I said quietly, and Isarae’s words died on her tongue. “If you think I’ve forgotten that the woman I love is injured then I’m not sure what to say.”

Isarae looked away from me for a moment before speaking.

“Blessed are those who suffer, for blessed is He who suffers for us,” Isarae recited quietly. “My pain and injuries are penance, and both fade quicker than most… so, truly, _Cre’yth_ , I am fine.”

“And what of me?”

It pained me a little to say that, especially given the look on Isarae’s face when I did. There was confusion, hurt, and a touch of real panic. Even now, after many cycles of seeing her feel emotions fully, it was a little strange how quickly those emotions crossed her face.

For more than a solar standard month, I had gotten accustomed to the omnipresent expressions of wry amusement or vague annoyance, now, though, with her soul free of the warptaint that cursed her kind, she could feel for the first time, and it was clear that the feelings were raw.

“Were I to suffer and tell you I was fine, would _you_ be?” I continued, and Isarae sagged a little at my words.

“Well?”

Isarae huffed and shook her head. “I would not, and you know that, Alessa… when I saw you take the Banshee’s blade to your shoulder, and heard you scream, I felt as though my heart were being torn from my chest.”

“Then do not tell me you’re fine if you are injured,” I said as I stepped closer and took her hand, guiding her to the bedside and forcing her to sit down. “Let me at least see it.”

“My shoulder is almost healed,” Isarae replied as she removed the layered plates of her greaves which were peppered with shrapnel from my grenade, and set them aside. “My knee is stiff and pained, but…”

I grimaced at the puckered injury. If she were human I have no doubt she would be screaming, but Isarae had long ago explained the lengths to which her body had been modified. Her blood was likely flooded with narcotic painkillers even now, and from the limited stains, I’d guess that the wound barely had a chance to bleed before the muscular contractions and hypercoagulants had sealed it up.

“You see?” Isarae said quietly. “There is nothing to be done but to let it heal. I’ve taken far worse injuries in my time than the ones dealt to me today.”

Her scarred flesh was rough and raw under my fingers as I ran my hands across her knee. “But these injuries were earned protecting me and my sisters, so they are different.”

Isarae sighed, then chuckled wryly.

“Yes, I suppose they are, _Cre’yth,_ ” she agreed.

Leaning down, I pressed my lips to the wound gently before sitting up and moving to Isarae’s side to curl up against her. She rested her head against mine, sliding her arms around my waist, and pulled me tight against her, sighing quietly in relief as she did.

“Better,” Isarae muttered. “This is far better than holding you when you’re in that armour.”

I laughed quietly as I pulled back and angled her face down to mine to meet her lips in a gentle kiss as I tugged at the rest of her scant armour.

The shower could wait.

* * *

* * *

We made love again that night for the first time since Isarae had been healed of her curse.

The bed was not nearly as soft, and we didn’t have as much room, and yet somehow it was just as good if not better. Isarae’s hands were so gentle with me, and her weight on my body was a sensation that made me shiver even aside from the things her fingers were doing to me.

Her mouth found every soft and sensitive part of me, and by the time we were finished I was barely able to think straight.

There are times I think I don’t reciprocate enough to Isarae, but at the same time I know that’s not what she cares about. She loves, more than anything else, to dote on me, and despite my rank and status as a warrior, I confess that it is nice to be treated gently now and again.

And Isarae is only ever gentle with me.

Isarae’s breath was slow and warm against the back of my neck. She was curled around me from behind, her arms firmly set about me, and her face buried against my hair. The bed was a bit narrow, and as hard as I recall from my days spent training in the Convent Arborea, but there was room enough for us, and that was enough for me.

If only I could sleep.

Isarae was sleeping soundly. Ever since the hand of the God-Emperor was upon her, she has rested more deeply than I ever recall, save for the last several cycles when she was deteriorating under her curse, though I didn’t realise it at the time. Those times were because her body was failing her, though. Now, I think, she sleeps soundly because she is at peace.

That is something I find myself just a little envious of.

Only a little.

Carefully, I laid a hand over Isarae’s and pulled it free of my waist, freeing myself so I could rise. Her eyes fluttered open as the mattress shifted, though, and she frowned as she patted sleepily at my emptied space.

“I’m here,” I spoke quietly, and knelt by the bed. “I’m just going to walk the grounds for a bit.”

“I’ll join you, then.” Isarae started to rise, but I laid a hand on her shoulder before she could move.

“Stay and rest,” I replied before capturing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll be fine, and you’ll heal faster this way… besides, I could use the time alone to think.”

Her frown deepened a little but she nodded. I smiled at that and stood to start pulling on my bodyglove, along with a long coat to keep the chill of the evening cycle away. As I did Isarae shuffled around a bit, beneath her pillow, then drew out one of her pistols.

“Take this, at least,” she said pointedly, holding out the weapon.

I scowled.

“Was that under there the whole time?” I asked, and Isarae at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Even while we were-?

“The safety was on,” Isarae said sheepishly.

I groaned, but the sound turned into a chuckle a moment later as I accepted Hellebore, fitted one of the holsters to the bodyglove belt, and slid the weapon into place.

“You’re incorrigible, ‘Rae,” I said as she laid back down. “I’ll be back soon, alright?”

“I know,” Isarae said quietly. “Be safe, my love.”

The halls were no more busy now than they were when we had gone to bed. At least we’d had almost a full cycle to rest and recover, but that time was nearing the end. By dawn tomorrow, though that was still several hours away, the war would be back at our doorstep, and our fight would begin anew.

This time, though, we would be fighting with an army at our backs, and one that did not trust us at that.

I frowned as I walked the long stretches of halls, occasionally passing a patrol which ignored me, though whether that was out of disdain or duty I’m not sure. For the sake of my sisters, I try hard to assume the latter, but my relationship with Isarae makes that difficult.

The glares we garnered just walking to our quarters still haunted me, whatever I said to Isarae. My sisters viewed my dearest with hatred and distrust, and me with disgust, and I cannot say I blamed them.

Were I in their position, I do not doubt I would have a similar point of view.

And yet…

I clenched a fist over my heart and grimaced. There was a tightness in my chest. My love for Isarae ran too deep to pretend otherwise, and the God-Emperor himself had blessed us, so to act otherwise would dishonor the will of Him On Earth!

And yet…

Gritting my teeth, I turned and started towards the training halls. I was growing restless, and more than that I was getting frustrated. A training circuit would at least let me vent some of my frustrations. The further down the halls I went, the more of my sisters I passed, and I reflected as I did that I was clearly not the only one of my sisterhood who felt the call of the blade.

We were surrounded by foes on all sides and beset by an enemy who knew no honor and struck in a manner that defied explanation. Frustration was, perhaps, something I still had in common with my beleaguered order, whether they accepted me anymore or not.

The looks I got as I passed them seeking out an empty hall suggest that ‘not’ was the far likelier answer to that query.

“God-Emperor give me strength,” I muttered as I finally found an empty training chamber and stepped inside.

It was cool and the luminators flickered on as I entered. The chamber was circular and just over ten meters across. One of the smaller chambers, at least I thought so. I was used to the great training halls of the Convent Arborea, but the Convent was a fortress many times the size of the Priory, so it stood to reason that the Priory of Gardens might have more reasonably sized rooms.

The east wall of the chamber bore a large rack of training weapons, each one kept meticulously clean and oiled.

I moved to them, running my hands over the various grips, hefting one here and another there, before finally finding a blade that was lighter-weight. It reminded me a little of Isarae’s Razorflail in its collapsed form, and the thought made me smile.

The clink of metal on stone sounded from the doorway, and I turned to find a familiar face glaring at me from it, flanked by two sisters of the Priory.

“You have some nerve to desecrate these holy halls with your presence, heretic,” Danika said, her lip curling as she looked me up and down. “Or do you think we do not know what unclean things you must do with that creature in your shared chambers?”

I shed my greatcoat silently, hang it from the rack, and turn to regard her with as little expression as possible, giving her the full weight of my blind gaze.

“You accuse me of laying with Isarae?” I asked calmly, testing the balance of the practice blade I’d selected with a few arcing swings as I spoke.

“I accuse you of much,” Danika replied curtly. “But as you say it, yes, I do.”

“Then deliver your accusation in the challenge ring, _sister._ ” I jabbed the tip of the blade in her direction, glaring down the length of it. “Unless thy tongue runneth ahead of thy skill.”

Fury flushed across Danika’s cheeks, an expression neatly echoed on the two women flanking her.

“Sparring without armour is dangerous, heretic,” she said pointedly as she stepped past me and nudging me aside to claim a heavy, two-handed practice blade from the rack. “Are you certain it’s not _thy_ tongue which paceth outward?”

As I noted before, I'd spent many cycles with only Isarae’s sarcasm and wry wit for conversation. I found myself grateful for it at that moment as Danika passed me to enter the ring, and I gave her my best approximation of Isarae’s most condescending smirk.

I must have managed it well enough because Danika’s eyes widened with barely restrained fury.

“What?!” Danika snarled as I took my place across from her. “Wipe that loathsome expression off your face, wretch!”

“My apologies, sister,” I said, toning the grin down. “I was only thinking that my lack of armour would only matter in the unlikely circumstance that you actually manage to hit me.”

I’m gratified to hear a tiny, nearly-constrained snort from one of Danika’s companions as her expression freezes into one of cold outrage, and she hefted the training blade to one of the most aggressive forms.

“I’m going to enjoy breaking your bones, witch,” Danika snarled.

“And I’m going to enjoy watching you miss.”

That was the final straw. Without a word of warning or a call for an official start, Danika bellowed a battlecry and surged forward, closing the meters in an instant. Her heavy blade cut through the air with hammering force.

And struck nothing.

Danika’s body was flaring with faith and zeal, making her easy to see through my gold-and-black soulsight, and my first thought as she moved was just how slow she was.

But then, everyone is slow compared to Isarae.

I didn’t move back or raise my blade in guard. Parrying a heavy weapon like that, with as much force as Sister Danika was striking with, would succeed only in giving me a broken wrist, at best.

Instead, I fell into the first steps of the Lacerai. The discipline, as Isarae taught it to me, was one of aggression like any Wych-cult style. A Wych does not retreat, they dance through the strikes of their foe.

So I stepped into Danika’s charge, ducking down, in, and around her swing. The look of blatant shock on her face as I moved was almost funny. My practice blade struck her side at the point where the hip joint and flexor met her breastplate and she folded around my hit with a squawk of pained alarm as her breath left her in a gusty burst.

Danika staggered, swinging her weapon in a wild, killing stroke that I ducked beneath before planting my feet and surging forward. My thumb reflexively slid across the hilt to send the tip of the weapon launching forward even as I remembered I wasn’t wielding the Razorflail, but it didn’t matter. I was easily close enough and I struck Danika hard just beneath the Aquila across her breast where the folds of metal met.

Ceramite creaked as a crack appeared beneath the tip of my blade, and Danika riposted with a spinning whirlwind of strikes, turning the heavy blade in expert spirals around her creating a shieldwall of slicing attacks meant to force her foe back.

Slow.

Too slow.

I moved in the syncopation of her attacks, stepping between the beats of her attacks as Isarae had taught me to.

‘ _Battle is like a dance,_ ’ She told me. ' _There are steps to it, and music as well. If you can hear the music and know the steps, then you must simply be the better dancer._ ’

I must have seemed like a ghost to Danika as I ducked, bent, and wove between her attacks. Her face was growing redder and more furious with every missed attack.

Danika bellowed again, sounding a bit like an angry grox as she surging forward with a lightning-quick blow carrying all of her built-up momentum. It was a cleaving, killing strike that would have broken me in an instant had it hit.

Instead, the blade shattered against the floor with the sheer force of Danika’s power-armour driven strength, while I turned and vaulted over the attack as it passed behind me, spinning in the air to build up force and bringing my blade down hard on the shaven side of her skull.

If the edge struck her it would have killed her just as certainly as I’d been wielding the Razorflail, so I turned it to the flat side at the last moment and instead laid a ringing blow against Danika’s head that sent her sprawling onto her side on the practice ring floor and her two-handed blade, with its tip snapped off and its length crazed with fissures, clattered deafeningly to the floor beside her.

I landed, body tucked to absorb the impact, standing over Danika, and I opened my mouth to say something else, but the words lodged in my throat as something- a premonition disaster- flashed through my mind.

Instinct drove me. My perceptions were screaming in the back of my mind, and without thinking I lept, curled, and spun into a defensive flurry, aiming my slashes behind me just as a bolter barked, and I had the brief glimpse of a panicked expression on the face of one of Danika’s sisters as she fired a shot from her sidearm at me.

The shell detonated and suddenly I was careening across the practice chamber as a shadow bled out of the threshold behind the two observing sisters to reach out with a single massive hand and tear the pistol from the offender’s grasp.

Lord Antares sent the firearm skittering away with a barked oath.

“FOOL!” He snarled, his voice tinny through my ringing ears. “The fight was _done!_ ”

Both sisters staggered away before dropping to a knee, the one who fired babbling apologies. She had panicked, I gathered as my wits reoriented. She had thought I was going to kill Sister Danika.

“Sister Alessandra struck with the flat of her blade, Sister Nalissa, had her intent been to kill you’d have been far too late!” Antares snapped. His booming voice lending thunder to his fury that shook the room. “Now call for a medicae! If she yet lives-!”

“I’m alright!” I called out as I staggered to my feet. My wrist ached abominably, and my hand was completely numb, but I was fine. “A few burns from the shrapnel, but I’m fine, Lord Angel. I _will_ yet live. Isarae would be furious otherwise.”

Even with his full helm masking his face I could see the surprise in Antares’ posture. The same shock was writ clear across the sister’s faces.

Danika, amusingly, was still stunned insensate and groaning on the floor.

“The only need for a medicae might lay with that one,” I gestured to Danika blithely, then turned, knelt, and took up my now-ruined practice sword.

“The blades-edge had caught the bolt shell mid-flight, turned it aside, and detonated it prematurely.” I showed them the shattered weapon as I turned back to the trio. “The shaped explosion struck nothing, but being airborne when it exploded, combined with the force of the impact, sent me hurtling away.”

It had probably saved me from further burns, though.

Lucky, that.

“That is a highly self-effacing way to explain that you survived because you cut a bolt shell out of the air that had been fired at your back,” Lord Antares said bluntly.

“Back and front mean little to me as a distinction,” I said with a shrug. “I am blind, but for the sight granted me by the grace of His Divine Majesty.”

Then I smiled, held up the shattered blade, and tossed it at the feet of both sisters and Astartes.

“Or more accurately shall I say: The Emperor Protects.”


	34. Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae is judged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay everyone. I've been working on so many projects, and not just fanfiction, but original fiction as well. If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.

“This is getting out of hand.”

I spoke the words with as much restraint as I could muster, although they still came out with anger. At least Alessandra had the good grace to look ashamed of herself as the medicae worked on her wrist while doing her utmost to ignore my presence in the medical wing.

“It was an _accident_ ,” Alessa insisted. “Sister Nalissa misread the situation.”

“She shot you.”

“She _missed_.”

“Then she shot you _poorly!_ ” I snapped, and Alessa flinched.

The medicae completed the binding on Alessa’s wrist as we glared at one another. I met Alessa’s blind, angry glare with one of my own, and the tension must have been palpable because as soon as the medicae was able, she all but sprinted from the small examination room.

“It was an accident, ‘Rae,” Alessa repeated, her jaw tight.

“Had you been less skilled or less aware, you would be dead right now,” I replied, my gut clenching at the thought. “Dead at the hands of one of your beloved sisters.”

“But I am not,” Alessa said. “You trained me better than that.”

“It ought never to have been tested!” I roared, and the volume rattled the small metal tools on the nearby counter. 

They were not the only thing rattled, though. Alessa jerked back, her jaw clamped shut and blank eyes wide as tears formed very briefly in them before she managed to blink them away.

Ice water sluiced down my spine as I realised what I’d done.

“A-Alessa, I…” I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths as I wrapped my arms around myself.

Rage.

I cannot remember ever feeling such manifold _rage_ in my life. It was red hot and boiling in my veins such that I could barely think straight. It was a lump of lit coal lodged in my chest, burning my lungs and heart and throat. It was electric hate coursing through my muscles and demanding that I kill to satisfy it.

Perhaps I have been too harsh in my judgments of the Blood God’s followers if this is what they experienced.

More than rage though, I realise, I felt something else.

Something even more alien.

“I’m sorry,” I choked the words out shakily. “I did not mean to shout, I’m just…”

Alessa’s hand settled on my arm and rubbed at the tense muscles beneath the skin as she stood, pressed against me, and laid her head on my shoulder.

With as much care as I could manage, I relaxed my arms and slid them around her, pulling her closer and burying my face against her hair to breathe deeply of her scent. I shivered several times, and to my shock I found tears slipping down my cheeks as I tightened my embrace on Alessa.

“I’m sorry, too,” Alessa said quietly. “I shouldn’t have made light of it.”

“I was scared, Alessa,” I sobbed. “How do your kind live with this… this _fear?_ ”

My emotions were a warzone in my heart. I had no grasp on them, they simply hammered at me like stormtides. I felt so much. Too much, I thought. My heart was too full… I loved Alessa so much, and an hour ago I had very nearly lost her to an accident.

Not an assassination, not cut down in battle.

An _accident._

And I would not have even known about it til the morning had Lord Antares not been kind enough to call on me and inform me that my beloved was in the medicae halls.

How long has it been since I felt this kind of numbing terror? The kind that steals the feeling from my fingers, and the breath from my lungs? The kind that paralyses no less than the psychic wail of a Banshee?

The curse of my kind that once armoured my heart against the depths of emotion with layer upon layer of apathy and cynicism was gone and in its place a raw wound was left open to the air. Prior to this, I had only known a short time of peace after my curse was lifted, punctuated by stabs of concern that the Asuryani might have noticed it which I soothed with my patrols. Then there was the attack, but in all it happened too quickly for me to really feel anything beyond the joy of battle.

Now, though…

“I’m sorry,” Alessa said again. “I rose to Danika’s bait and I shouldn’t have, it was foolish of me.”

“I cannot lose you, my heart.” I bit the words out as I pulled back. “You are my everything, Alessa, so please… _please,_ be more careful.”

A soft rapping of knuckles from the threshold of the chamber drew my attention as Canoness Utena, clad in a bodyglove rather than her full armour stepped inside, followed by another woman I did not recognise.

She and Utena were a study in opposites; where Utena was tall and sharp-featured, her companion was a full head shorter and made up of soft lines. Where Utena was pale, with a piercing gaze, the woman behind her was dark-skinned, with gray-green eyes that held something far more gentle.

And from the closeness of them, and the way Utena’s companion so casually rested her hand in the crook of the Canoness’s arm, it was clear their relationship was more than just close.

“Sister Alessa, you have my deepest apologies,” Utena said with a grimace, bowing her head as she spoke. “I had thought I’d made it clear that you were to remain unmolested, but it seems Danika’s zeal has once again ran ahead of her.”

“I was just as guilty in provoking her, honored Canoness,” Alessa said quietly as she turned from me to drop to a knee and bow. “Her words ought not to have stoked my temper so.”

“My understanding is that she impugned your honor,” the woman behind Utena said, and I was struck by the quiet, almost breathy quality of her voice. “She wished the fight no less than you did, little Sister, in that manner you are both at fault.”

“Danika wanted the excuse, though,” Utena said grimly. “I examined the sparring chamber, and from the damage inflicted on both floor and weapon it was clear she had no intention of letting you walk out of that room.” She sighed quietly, then seemed to realise something before chuckling to herself. “But I apologise… allow me to introduce Canoness Anthia, my partner and counterpart in this war.”

I took a knee beside Alessa and bowed, making the sign of the Aquila as I did.

“It is my honor to serve, Canoness,” I said.

“Hm, so it’s true, then,” Anthia said in the light, airy tone. “Truly the God-Emperor’s grace is infinite… never in all my years would I have imagined I would see an Eldar honestly humble herself before a servant of Him On Earth.”

There was nothing for me to say. The Canoness was not wrong. My kind had shown only blind hubris and a total unwillingness to learn from our terrible mistakes. We stood in judgment over younger races whose actions and mistakes could never, in a thousand lifetimes, measure up to the damage the Aeldarii had caused.

So seeing one bow in contrition must have truly seemed strange.

“I serve as He directs,” I replied quietly.

“Is that so?” Anthia spoke the words calmly as she stood over me.

“Well, my love?” Utena said, laying a hand on Anthia’s shoulder. “Your eyes have always been better than mine in the judgment of others… what say you?”

“Only the God-Emperor may judge, dear one,” Anthia replied wryly. “But it is my humble opinion that whatever the truth of the matter, this xeno’s heart, or whatever she possesses which passes for one, belongs wholly to Sister Alessandra at the very least.”

“My life and soul rests in the hands of His Divine Majesty,” I said firmly without raising my head. “But my heart is Alessa’s alone.”

Canoness Anthia knelt to my level and held out a hand, and I had to swallow back a denial.

My hands were slick with blood, but Alessa, in her grace, had forgiven me and loved me without reserve even knowing my sins. This Canoness could not know what Alessa knew, and the thought of putting my filthy hands near so pure a servant of the God-Emperor was a gut-wrenching notion.

Perhaps she sensed my reticence because she reached out and took my hand anyway, pulling me to my feet and guiding Alessa up at the same time.

Standing here, looking over her like this, I was struck by the fact that Anthia was actually shorter than I’d thought initially. Or perhaps it was simply the softness of her. She seemed smaller, and at the same time more ephemeral. There was very little that this woman had in common with any of the other sisters I’d seen.

The Sororitas, like Alessandra, seemed to favor more powerful builds. Broad shoulders and strong backs made to bear the weight of the Imperium of Mankind and its faith in the God-Emperor were theirs by virtue of will and work.

Anthia possessed few of these qualities. Not to say she was weak, of course. From what I could see of her body it was lean with muscle, but her frame was an exceptionally willowy one.

Except…

“How strange,” Anthia said softly, her eyes never wavering from mine. “I have always felt an instinctual revulsion to the xeno when I’m near them, but I feel none of that near you… rather, I feel a kinship that I cannot properly account for.”

“The sanctity of Isarae’s soul is guarded by Him On Earth, honored Canoness,” Alessa chimed in. “I humbly submit that perhaps it is His grace which you feel?”

“That may very well be, Sister,” Anthia replied with that gentle smile of hers. “There is wisdom in you, despite your youth.”

“Either way, a debrief must commence,” Utena said, cutting in. “I had hoped we could at least save this for tomorrow, but it seems that won’t be possible… best to get it out of the way now, I suppose.”

“I agree,” Anthia replied as she released our hands and turned to Utena, putting a hand on her narrow cheek. “I told you it would be best to do this sooner rather than later, beloved.”

Utena’s lips pressed to a thin line. “Aye, and I have no doubt I shall be reminded of it for the next decade.”

“Only when you’ve upset me,” Anthia said brightly, patting Utena’s cheek nonchalantly before stepping past her.

Utena let out a long-suffering sigh as Anthia left the medicae chambers. Her sharp, silver-blue eyes narrowed as she took several long, slow breaths in and out, then closed her eyes, and shook her head.

“As insufferable as she is unimpeachable, is my Anthia,” Utena said after opening her eyes again. “But she has the sharpest instincts and the greatest natural, spiritual connection with the God-Emperor I’ve ever seen, and there are none of the Priory who do not trust her implicitly… her vote of confidence will go a long way towards soothing unrest.”

“In the debrief you mentioned?” Alessa asked cautiously.

“To the entirety of the Priory’s remaining military force, yes,” Utena confirmed.

“If I may ask, honored Canoness,” Alessa continued, a faint tightness forming at her jaw that I recognised as worry. “What will the debrief be regarding?”

Rather than reply, Utena simply turned to look at me.

That did not surprise me.

“They will demand her execution!” Alessa snarled, before remembering herself- “Canoness!”

“The Emperor’s Tarot, among other elements, all insist that your Eldar is key to our victory,” Utena replied. “If we are to prosecute His will, then we cannot hide her… we must be united as one, as we are meant to be.”

“They will _riot_ ,” Alessa said flatly.

“If our discipline is so lax, perhaps a riot is deserved,” Utena countered calmly. “But do not judge the whole of our Priory sisters by Danika. It is an unfairness to them.”

Turning to me, Utena narrows her eyes again and looks me up and down before asking: “Need I concern myself with you seeking vengeance upon the Sister Superior? Or her subordinate?”

In truth, I had considered it. The wretched woman had caused Alessa and I nothing but grief since the moment she had stepped off the VTOL ramp.

At least in that moment, I understood her vitriol, though. I was unvouched for by any but a potentially unhinged Sister who had recently opened fully automatic bolter fire on them.

But now…

Now, Danika has willfully defied the orders of her superiors. She was a threat.

A threat to me.

A threat to _Alessa._

“Were I free to kill her I would,” I admitted after a long, pensive moment. “But her life is the coin of the God-Emperor, to be spent by Him alone…” I looked up at Utena before I continued, meeting her eyes sharply. “I will not seek her out, honored Canoness, that I promise, but if she threatens Alessa or myself again, I will not turn my blade flat as the Lord Angel claims Alessa did.”

Utena grimaced at that, but nodded.

“That will suffice,” she replied with a quiet sigh. “Danika has put us in a delicate situation… she is young, skilled, and well-liked, but her pride is battered,” Utena gave a grim chuckle. “She is newly appointed to her rank after her Sister Superior fell three cycles ago, and your retrieval was her first sortie in command.”

Alessa winced at that, and even I felt an uncharacteristic stab of pity for the young woman, furious though she made me.

It must have been humiliating. To have her first command be crippled by haywire grenades only to be saved by an apparent heretic and her xenobreed lover. Then, when she faced Alessa to reclaim some modicum of that pride, to be beaten so soundly that she was unable to land even a single blow before being knocked insensible.

Despite the heart-clenching weight of fear I had been feeling, I could not deny a satisfying swell of pride in Alessa battle talents.

“Now she must face censure for defying orders.” Utena shook her head again and groaned. “Would that her first sortie could have been met with Greenskins, she would have fared beautifully.”

“We do not choose the trials by which we are tested, only whether or not we succumb.” I spoke softly, but my words drew a look of surprise and anger from Utena.

The anger lasted only a moment before fading into shock.

“That… That was the Fortieth Catechism of Saint Arabella,” Utena said hollowly.

“It was,” I agreed. “It seemed apt.”

“Isarae has been studying the primer and the works of the Companions since her salvation, honored Canoness,” Alessa interjected, stepping between us. “We reclaimed what tomes from the chapel that we could. The Catechism of Roses was among them, obviously.”

It was a short book, but one of my favorites. I’d picked it up one night while Alessa was slumbering through her fever and began reading it near dawn. I’d finished it in only a handful of hours later, and have since reread it almost a hundred times.

I never imagined humans could produce such simple wisdom, and I quickly found myself loving the works of Saint Arabella in particular. Her writings were whimsical and mused on the natures of faith and mortality. Temper and temperance. There was a subtle humor to them that reminded me a little of Alessa.

I devoured what others of her texts we had salvaged voraciously.

_The Catechism of Roses._

_We Faithful Daughters._

_Tribulations, VIII-IX._

I understand there are two more volumes of _Tribulations_ that she penned prior to her vanishing, and I very much hoped to read more of her works if time permitted.

“I find myself at a loss for words,” Utena said, looking at me as though seeing me for the first time. “Regardless, I’ve given the order to muster and you,” she gives me a pointed look, “shall wait in the rear antechamber to be called, assuming Alessa’s concerns are unfounded.”

“And if they are not?” I asked.

Rather than respond, Utena only gave me a flat look as she pressed her lips to a thin grimace. I nodded my silent assent. If Alessandra was correct, then my only recourse would be to flee the Priory, or be put to death, and if that were the case then Alessa would join me.

Even if her sisters did not demand it, I know that she would choose to join me on principle.

“Follow me,” Utena said after a moment, then turned and stepped out of the medicae chamber.

Alessa and I trailed a few paces behind her. I attempted to move behind Alessa, as I had prior to this, but as before, she didn’t let me. She took my hand, linked our fingers, and drew me up to her side.

“You are not my servant,” Alessa said quietly through the side of her mouth. “I will not have them think you some tamed animal who stays at my heel, ‘Rae.”

“My existence is one of subservience now, this does not trouble me,” I replied, keeping my eyes downcast.

As such, I nearly struck Alessa when she jerked to a sudden stop and whirled on me, somehow managing a blazing glare despite her milky gaze. Her grip on my hand tightened for a moment, and anger rolled off of her, and I was not the only one who felt it.

Utena turned as well, her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked between us.

“You are _not_ my servant, Isarae,” Alessa said tightly. “We serve the God-Emperor, but you are not…” 

She swallowed hard, let go of my hand, and gripped my face to pull me down into a furious kiss. I could practically hear Utena’s jaw tighten as Alessa unabashedly showed her affection for me. I supposed it was easier for Utena to simply not ask or question the full nature of our relationship. If she did not ask, then she could more readily ignore it.

Clearly that was not something Alessa was willing to let stand.

Alessa wanted the world to know that our hearts were entwined, and damn the consequences. As she pulled back from me, a faint twinge of pain settled in my heart at the glitter of tears which swam on the edges of her eyes.

“You have told me thus, and now I say to you,” Alessa began. “Isarae, you are _precious_ to me.”

My heart ached at her words. Emotions, now so near, have become difficult to handle. 

Tears trickled down my cheeks. I understand, I think, how my kind fell to debauchery. I would not wonder that I might be the very first of my kind since the Fall to feel boldly and without fear, and without the taint of the Thirst.

To feel so intensely and so powerfully is a dangerous thing. Far more dangerous, I think it might be, that I should love so fiercely.

Bowing to rest my forehead against Alessa’s, I let her wipe the tears from my cheeks with fond and careful touches.

“I will walk you to the antechamber, my love,” Alessa said quietly. “You will wait for me there.”

“And if this should end poorly?” I asked.

“The Emperor Protects,” was Alessa’s only, and expected answer. “His Will be done in all things, we must have faith in that, ‘Rae.”

I nodded dutifully, then turned to the Canoness and took a knee, lowering my head as I laced my fingers together in the sign of the Aquila.

“I serve, honored Canoness.”

“See that you do,” Utena spoke sharply, and through gritted teeth.

I do not blame her. It must have been difficult to witness such blatant affection.

Standing, I walked alongside Alessa as she trailed Utena who guided us towards a large set of heavy double doors. Despite their weight and heft, I could hear the faint hum of conversation beyond it. The full weight of the Priory’s war forces have likely been gathered for this debrief.

“Wait in there.” Utena said, gesturing to a smaller door off to the side. “You will be summoned when and if things are managed well enough.”

“As you say, honored Canoness,” I replied with another bow.

Before I can move past her, Alessa seizes my hand and draws me back, goes up on her toes, and presses her lips to mine in a short, playfully doting kiss.

“For luck and fortune,” she said, smiling.

I drew her into a quick embrace before stepping back, sketching a short and final bow to the Canoness, then proceeding into the rear antechamber. It was, I reflected as I passed through the wide door, not unlike going into a cell to await sentencing.

In a sense, that wasn’t inaccurate.

The debriefing was more than just an announcement. It was the determination of whether or not I would fight alongside Alessa and her sisters, or if my existence would prove to be only one more source of conflict on this war torn world.

I stepped inside the antechamber, pensive and nervous. It was spartan, almost bare actually. There were only a few dim luminators on the ceiling which lit the room poorly, leaving much of the walls and corners in shadows.

Lacking any other recourse, I went to the center of the chamber where the light was strongest, knelt on both knees, and bowed until my forehead kissed the cold floor plates.

“God-Emperor, Father of Mankind, I am your humble servant,” I muttered aloud. “My body and soul art thine, to wield as thou see’st fit. If by my life, I wouldst make whole thy sacred domain, so it shall be. If by my death I wouldst bring peace to thy warriors… so it shall be.”

I clenched my eyes shut hard enough for sparks to bloom behind the lids.

My prayers are clumsy things for now. Perhaps, if the debrief goes well, I shall ask one of the more amiable sisters to instruct me in their ritual tongue. I can only hope that my calls are heard.

“Interesting.”

A sonorous voice rumbles from the shadows, and in an instant I’ve rolled backward and in the same instant drawn both my razorflail and my remaining splinter pistol just as a figure like a looming specter of death itself folds out of the darkness to my right. It’s huge, a towering behemoth the colour of gravestone, and wrapped in a ragged mourning shroud. Two baleful red eyes burn in the depths of the shroud as they measure me, and my body is screaming for to strike out for a long, thready moment before I realise what, or rather who, it is that I’m looking at.

“Lord Antares!” I drop my weapons and take a knee, bowing my head sharply.

How had I not noticed him? Nothing so immense should be so easy to miss, but this wasn’t the first time I’d done so.

“Isarae of the Aeldari.” Antares steps fully into the light, and my breath catches. There’s something subtly unsettling about him. “You are a contradiction in terms. You are Eldar, and therefore a foe of the Imperium… Yet you are an ally who has shown the fervor of true and unflinching faith.”

He circles me in an almost predatory fashion, and I note with some discomfort that despite his power armour, he makes almost no sound. I realise why that is a moment later. There’s a faint whine in the back of my head. A buzz around the edges of my teeth that is familiar.

“Aural dampeners,” I said quietly. “They are built into your armour, aren’t they?”

“The blessed machine spirit of my wargear is a quiet one,” Antares replied with a small nod. “My brothers and I, and our sacred armaments, are of like mind and soul, in this manner and many others.”

“If you would pardon my queries, Lord Angel…?” I kept my gaze down as I trailed off, and waited, and after a brief pause he gave a quiet grunt of assent. “Thank you, Lord… then I would I flatter myself to say that I am a superlative warrior and in this dark galaxy there are few who are my direct equal, fewer still who can sneak up on me, and yet you have done so twice.”

“We all have our secrets, Eldar,” Antares spoke with a vox-grated grind. “The genefather of my chapter is one for whom the art of silence and stealth has ever come easily and quickly, and that is all I shall say.”

“Of course,” I bobbed my head in a small, secondary bow.

The quiet motion of Lord Antares continued. He circled me another three times, and slowly, before finally stopping in front of me, and I only knew for certain that he had done so because of the faint flap of his shroud before me.

Then he knelt, and held out his hand. His palm was broad and clad in ceramite, and resting at the center of it was a small, brassy sphere with a green lens built into it. A recorder of some kind, I thought, and I tentatively raised my head to regard the Lord Angel quizzically.

“Take it,” he spoke with a deadly stillness to his voice that put a shiver down my spine. “There are only seven seconds of recording within. Take it, and watch.”

For some reason, that notion seemed abhorrent to me. The recorder, which seemed so innocuous a moment ago, now lodged something like fear deep in my heart.

But I could not disobey. The Lord Angel, a son of His Divine Majesty, commanded me to take the recording and to watch it, and so I would.

“As you say, Lord,” I muttered as I reached out and took the recording from him. It seemed so small in his hand, but in mine it was large and heavy.

It’s a typical example of humanity’s crude but functional artifice, but despite that there was a certain simple beauty in its craft. It took me only a moment to discern the method of using it, but once I did it was the work of a heartbeat to turn the dials and activate the recorder. The lens flickered and flashed, then spilled out a stream of holographic light washed in shades of deep ocean green. 

The first few seconds were a frenetic flurry of motion, and while there was no sound, my eyes tracked the pattern of a battle.

The fourth second showed the battle slowing as the combatants came to a rest, and then-

My heart nearly stilled in my chest.

Whomever’s eyes I was viewing from was looking at someone. A figure; lithe, powerful, and familiar, and she was _laughing._ Her body was nearly bare and slick with gore, and she had her head thrown back in raucous mirth before jerking forward in a spasmodic and violent charge forward.

And then the recording froze. Stuttered. And began again.

I flicked the recording off before I could see the poisonous images contained within it again. My chest was tight with guilt and hatred as I lowered my head and held out the device to Antares so he would take it from me.

“This recording is ancient,” Antares booms. “It is a copy of the final moments of Second Company Captain Vadish, recovered from his helm after he was slain in defense of a Holy Shrine of the God-Emperor by an unknown Wych almost nine hundred years ago.”

Tears spilled from my eyes as I curled in on myself, going from one knee, to both, and prostrating myself with palms flat on the floor and my face against the metal floor plates.

“I had thought you seemed familiar, if only in the vaguest sense, when I first laid eyes on you,” he continued calmly. “So I sent a query to my chapter’s vessel in orbit and requested a copy of the Demise of Vadish to refresh my memory.”

I opened and closed my mouth several times. Each time I wanted to say something, but the works choked and died before they could emerge because each one sounded more hollow than the last, even in my own head.

“The skill of Captain Vadish is legendary within my Chapter.” Antares’s armour growled softly as he stood, and his shadow fell coldly over me once more. “His death was a tragedy… much worse that his body was never recovered, only his helm and the head within.

I swallowed hard, and my nails cracked and screeched against the floor as I shook.

“So tell me, Isarae of the Eldar. How many of my brothers have you slaughtered?”


	35. Drawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessa judges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay everyone. I've been working on so many projects, and not just fanfiction, but original fiction as well. If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.

_This is getting out of hand_

It was my primary and prevailing thought as the Canoness Utena stood before the congregation of the priory sisters and assorted serfs as stoic as if she were facing down a charging horde of Orks.

Given what she was about to announce, I wouldn’t be surprised if she were measuring their bloodthirst as equal. Certainly, none of them looked pleased. There was no doubt that news of my sparring match with Danika had already circulated between the squads which naturally meant speculation was running wild. 

From the murmur that was rising up from the crowds, I guessed there were already a half-dozen theories of how I bested her, from underhanded tactics to outright sorcery. I doubt there any good theories, given the number of glares being leveled at me from where I stand a few meters behind the podium beside Anthia as Utena prepares to speak.

“Sisters!” Utena’s voice thundered across the hall, silencing the hushed conversations. “By now I’m sure you’re all at least passingly aware of the strange circumstances we have found ourselves in.”

I had to suppress a snort, and I could not help but note that the expression on Anthia’s face is one of studied neutrality. Utena certainly possessed a flair for understatement.

“To quell the rumors, allow me to clarify the full truth,” she continued. “Last cycle a pair of squads, led by Sister Superior Danika, were alerted to the activation of a centuries-old transponder signum.

“Upon arrival, they discovered a young Convent Sister awaiting them with no less than a dark eldar bowing in supplication and wearing the livery of the Imperium, and claiming that she had successfully converted the xenobreed warrior to the Imperial Creed.”

Even Utena’s obdurate presence wasn’t enough to keep order as a swell of outrage exploded from the congregation. I grit my teeth and stood my ground as my sisters roared and snarled their abuse up at the podium. Gone was the beauty and grace I had for so long associated with my order. Gone was their patience and charm.

Divine rage is our right, granted us by the God-Emperor to steel ourselves against the unclean hordes of the alien, the mutant, and the heretic. Never before had I known the press of that rage to be directed at me.

More than six hundred battle sisters, hundreds of lay sisters, and other ancillaries, all seemed to be in staunch agreement on the point that my choices weren’t acceptable. Here was where the true battle would begin though, because if Utena, and the blessed Astropathica, were correct in their interpretations, then Isarae _had_ to be accepted.

At least in some way.

“Sisters I understand your reticence!” Utena bellowed, once more demonstrating her penchant for minimization. “But this is no mere whim of fate! The seeming impossibility of this xenobreed turning its back on its own foul kind, to stand beneath the light of Him On Earth, is more than happenstance it is _ordained!_ ”

Well, that shut them up.

The rage hadn’t vanished but it was clearly buried under a sudden weight of disbelief, and I understood the shock. The matter of Isarae and her salvation flies in the face of millennia of accepted Imperial doctrine. The Creed is clear on the nature of the xeno; their lives are an affront to the dominion of Mankind, and their fate is to be purged from the galaxy, and yet…

“The Astropaths have divined the will of Terra and the Golden Throne!” Utena roared, her hands outstretched as if to encompass the crowd. “And yes! We thought it first the product of our error for faultless though He may be we are but mortals tethered to His will! Yet time and again! Night after night! Our astropaths turned the same patterns in the Emperor’s Tarot, and the truth was made clear! The xenobreed fights for Him On Earth! Swears to Him On Earth! And bears His holy hand across her soul!”

“HERESY!” 

I don’t know who screamed the word, but someone among my sisters bellowed it out the call was taken up like a rallying cry in the heart of a battlefield. Cries of heresy and snarls of defiance echoed throughout the great hall as the congregation seemingly kept itself from descending on the podium to tear us apart in a holy fervor only by the narrowest of margins and, likely, only truly out of respect for Canoness Utena.

There are few sisters so beloved as Utena and Anthia. They are, to my best understanding, seen as the ideal among Sisters of Battle. The two women are two halves of one soul, bound in faith and love of both the God-Emperor and one another. Where one goes, so too does the other, where one fights, it is at the back of her beloved, and I have no doubt in my heart that when one dies, the other will follow her in due course on the heels of fiery vengeance.

So to hear no less than Canoness Utena declare something that sounded to any rational ear like the height of heresy must have shaken the very foundations of my poor sisters’ faith.

“Sisters!” Utena bellowed. “Calm yourselves! I will have order! Order! By the God-Emperor and the Holy Companions will _you all just shut up!_ ”

Of course, between the pair, one could easily say that Utena was the more choleric of the two.

“Well,” Anthia said softly from my side, “this _is_ going poorly.”

I turned my head to regard her in disbelief, my jaw slack as I stared at the serene Canoness’ features as she looked out over her Priory sisters, their Convent companions, and all the rest with an expression of quiet contemplation while her sister Canoness did her level best to shout them down from their building crescendo of violence with nothing more than volume and verve. 

“I thought this before but—” I looked over Utena who seemed ready to pitch the podium itself out of frustration— “you two have a knack for understating things, don’t you?”

Anthia gave me a gentle shrug by way of reply.

“This is going to turn into a riot,” I said as a deep fear started to build in my gut. “I can practically taste it in the air…”

“My beloved Utena, wise though she is, expected too much of our beleaguered little sisters,” Anthia began quietly. “Too many have been lost to the green ones, and the blinding light of hatred given us by the God-Emperor as our sword has betrayed them to His will. She believed that their perfection in His eyes would keep them reasonable, but such was not to be.”

“I knew this was a mistake,” I said tightly.

“And yet, there was no other recourse,” Anthia countered, finally turning her head to regard me. “The God-Emperor wills us fight alongside your Isarae, and that cannot be done in secret, and so this swell of wrath was no less foretold than the Eldar’s desire for absolution.”

“Absolution?” I spoke the word softly, less to Anthia than to myself.

“Bring the xeno forth!” A voice snarls from near the middle of the crowd, and a bone-deep weariness settles over my soul like a wet rag.

Danika

Would that I had struck her a bit harder and she had remained unconscious throughout these proceedings I have no doubt they would go more smoothly for it. For better or worse, the vitriol of the crowd settled as Danika stepped forward, her head still bearing the bandages earned from our duel. 

“Sister Danika, _stand down!_ ” Utena spat. “You have, and repeatedly, flouted my orders, and will be dealt with!”

Anthia let out a quiet groan.

“This is not the way, beloved,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“I shall not stand down, _Canoness!_ ” Danika spat. “My faith is to the God-Emperor, as is my oath! His will is to see the purgation of the alien, the mutant, and the heretic, and yet I have in two cycles seen you pardon no less than two of three!”

“The Will of the God-Emperor is made manifest through the Tarot!” Utena snapped as Danika advanced on the podium. “It is not yours to decide, little sister.”

“Ah! Of course!” Danika spoke in a painfully mocking tone. “Three of three, then, as you seem happy to trod on the clarity of Imperial doctrine in favor of the mutters of the mutant psykers!”

The congregation of sisters fairly exploded at that, and from where I stood I could both see and feel the psychic blush of indignation and rage well up from Utena. I had no doubt that she was well aware of her position in regards to her faith and doctrine. Utena knew the scriptures better than I or Danika, and she knew precisely what she was doing. There was no doubt in my mind that Utena’s deep revulsion and hatred for the xeno was making her defense of Isarae come out like a exhalation of razorblades, and yet she was doing it, and here was Danika _mocking her for it._ ”

“Well she knows her audience, I suppose,” I said acidly.

“Her faith is true,” Anthia replied quietly. “But her pride and zeal for vengeance is blinding her.”

“You dare speak in such a manner to me?” Utena’s voice is a deadly hiss.

“I dare,” Danika said, unflinching in the face of the Canoness’ rage. “I dare for the sake of my faith, my sisters, and my soul… and _yours,_ Canoness Utena.”

“And so you should have us disregard the Tarot?” Utena asked, her voice still low and sharp. “Shall we cut the throats of the astropaths? Blind ourselves to the light of Terra? Bring down the darkness of Old Night and damn Amphitria to the appetites of the green invader for the sake of lip service to the Golden Throne?”

I can’t help a small smile from forming on my lips. Utena knew well that this was not a debate of reason. She could not reason with Danika, so instad she had to shame her. She had to strike at her faith until the young Sister Superior capitulated or began to make a fool of herself.

Danika’s pride and anger surged in my blind sight like a splash of sickly gold and red.

“The Tarot guides us,” she snarled, “but the psyker is ever a risk, ever vulnerable to the caprice of the daemon and the torment of the warp and with the wound of the Cicatrix Maledictum who is to say that their visions are not twisted by some unnatural will?”

Utena opened her mouth to press back, but I could feel the momentum shifting in Danika’s direction.

“The psyker is a mutant!” Danika’s crowing voice overrode Utena’s. “They cannot be trusted! Not now nor ever! Only by the shackles of Him On Earth are they of use, but in this dark place they are a risk! Not an ally! However much they wish to be! We cannot trust their visions! We must trust our _faith!_ We must trust our Emperor’s word above all!”

The congregation bellowed its approval at that, and the shouting and stamping of feet and roars of zealous faith crashed over me like a wave and suddenly I was drowning in it. I could feel us losing ground. It was deafening. Utena was being pushed back, her strength of will, already compromised by having to defend what we have always been taught is the indefensible, was buckling and having her own faith and beliefs thrust into her gut like a chainblade made it no easier.

My breath was coming in heaves. All was on the verge of loss. I could feel it. I could feel His eyes upon me and I knew He was watching. The will of the God-Emperor, made clear in the Tarot, was being disregarded for its source and its passage through the psychic maelstrom of the Great Rift, and that disregard would lead us to heresy!

An entire Priory was now at the cusp of it all.

We were toeing the edge of heresy and no one else could see it. No one could see it. There was too much hate and too much fear. We have been backed into a corner by the Ork invader, our numbers cut to a fraction of our strength, and our leadership severed at the neck, and now, in spite of her best intentions, Danika was doing the will of evil.

His eyes were burning at my neck. His gaze was upon me, I could _feel it._ I knew his will and yet I was… I was not—

In the center of the tempest that was my soul, a sudden calm opened. A golden light which I could not account for shed itself over my soul and in that moment I could hear her, though it was less a voice than a memory. A memory from moments spent in fever as I recovered from the psychic backlash of Isarae’s salvation, as she cradled me in bed, and read to me.

I could hear her voice then as clearly as I could now.

 _“Rejoice, O’ children, for God walks among us,”_ the words spilled from my lips with a stentorian echo that was both familiar and not as I stood straight and breathed deep to advance on the arguing Utena, and my voice seemed to carry as if from a Laudhailer. _“The Light stands before us, and the Way is made open to us all for the Emperor of Mankind is the Light, and the Emperor of Mankind is the Way, and all of His actions are for the benefit of Mankind, which is His people.”_

Silence descended over the whole of the congregation. My sisters were all illuminated in stark contrasts of gold and black as Danika turned to stare, and her face drained of will as much as I think it must have drained of blood as she stumbled backward from my advance to the podium where Utena stood.

Utena, who stepped back and dropped to her knees.

I followed the insistence in my soul and raised both of my hands, not to encompass as Utena’s hands, but in plea to the heavens.

_“The Emperor is God and God is the Emperor, and so it is taught by the Imperial Creed that above all things, the Emperor Protects.”_

Lowering my hands to cover my chest over my heart, I stared over my sisters feeling a sense of graceful calm settle over me.

“My sisters, your rage is just and righteous,” I said, the bass echo fading even as the words spilled out of me without my will. “Your hatred is good and clean, but the Will of our Father, who is the God-Emperor, demands we reclaim this sacred world, and by the miracle of His grace He sends us the impossible, a xeno who weeps in joy for her newfound faith in Him On Earth, not to shake _our_ faith… but to strengthen it.”

“H-How?” Danika sputtered the word out as she fell to her knees. “How is this possible?”

Looking down from the podium to the shaken Sister Superior, I offered her a faint smile. I did not feel rage at her foolishness in that moment, only a small pity for a sister who had not yet seen the fullness of the light, and joy that she may one day do so.

“Is the God-Emperor not all powerful?” I asked softly. “Is His will not made manifest in _all_ things? Is there any miracle of faith beyond his remit?”

“I… I c-cannot…” Danika’s voice died in her throat as she stood on shaky legs, backed off of the raised dais of the podium to fall gracelessly to the floor below as she stared up at me.

“You are our sister,” I spoke with as much care as possible as I extended a hand to her. “Come.”

“You…” her voice is hollow, empty of anything but hate. “You are no sister of mine, _heretic._ ”

With that, she stood, turned, and beat her way out of the congregation hall, followed by ten others by my count. Their faith was in tatters to my vision and tears trickled down my cheeks at the sight. They were, in the end, too rigid to accept the will of the God-Emperor. Though they loved Him, and He them, their minds were not prepared to accept the infinity of His grace.

“Stop them!” Utena snarled as she stood, but the shaken sisters of the congregation faltered as they looked shakily between one another. “Stop the—oh, frak it, never mind.”

Utena sighed, then turned to me with awe on her face, and I looked at her quizzically.

“What?”

“It is as we thought, then.” The deep and thunderous, vox-distorted growl of Antares rippled through the hall as he emerged from the shadows of the antechamber.

Behind him trailed Isarae, and her aura nearly broke my heart on sight. There was a deep, painful shame in her; a hemorrhaging self-hatred that festered like a gangrenous wound in her soul. There was no pride in her shoulders, only a pained and broken weight bearing her down.

“What did you do to her?” I snarled as I stepped past Utena to stand before the Lord Angel, glaring up at him with all my might.

He stood nearly two and a half meters tall in the resplendence of his power armour which, I noted with some curiosity, made almost no sound. His surplice was pale and hung from him like a mourning shroud, and from beneath the deepset cowl was a pair of baleful red eyes.

“If you harmed her…” I trailed off, violence trembling through my limbs despite knowing that not only would lay a hand on the Lord Angel be _true_ heresy but that he would tear me limb from limb with ease should I try.

Lord Antares stared down at me for a long moment through the thick and heavy silence of the hall. It felt as though no one were breathing. The rage of one of the Emperor’s Angels no mean thing, and I could feel an ember of true anger within him.

Anger that was directed at me.

“You knew.” He said it as both accusation and statement, rather than as a query. “You knew what this thing did,” Antares gestured at Isarae. “You knew that the blood of my brothers stained her hands.”

I felt the hissing intake of breath even from Anthia and Utena, as well as from the rest of my sisters, but I did not flinch. I had seen the unspeakable act of the Great Serpent’s birth and the horrors that followed, just as I had seen the sins of my beloved.

“I did,” I replied, an unaccountable surge of confidence straightening my spine against the Angel’s rage. I knew what I had to say. “The blood of twelve brothers of your chapter stain her hands, and I could recount the blood of other Angels if you wish.”

A wave of shock rippled through the crowd at my pronouncement.

“You… _dare?_ ” Antares rumbled. “You speak of the death of my brothers, the spilling of the blood of my father’s father, however thinned, as if it is an _afterthought?!_ ”

The last word and bellowed through his helm vox, and the volume rattled the stained glass windows of the priory. I refused to flinch away though. I knew this was a possibility when I saw the sheer volume of blood spilled by my beloved, but there was nothing to be done about it. There was no recourse but to move forward.

“Soothe your choler, Lord Angel,” I said, the words pouring from me. “I am not speaking flippantly, I speak thus only because the matter has already been addressed. Your rage, while understandable, is misplaced.”

“Pray tell,” Antares snarled as bent forward to loom over me. “How has the deaths of my brothers and cousins been ‘addressed’?”

“Is it not clear?” I asked, gesturing behind him. “Is her soul not warded by the God-Emperor, whose divinity is encoded into your holy blood, Lord Angel? Is she not clean of the taint of the Prince of Pleasure?”

Antares faltered at that, then turned back to Isarae to regard for a moment. She wilted beneath his gaze and another pang of sympathetic agony shot through me. The Angel’s red-lit eyes turned back to me, and I could feel that flame of his anger cool faintly as he did.

“Has she not already been forgiven by the God-Emperor, at whose side your brothers now stand?” I asked softly. I knew the words were true even as I said them. I could feel the truth in them.

Antares did not reply immediately. His crimson lenses simply settled on me as a tumult of emotions washed through him. I watched the tides of color change in him, and I felt a shadow of them as they echoed out between us. He was more open-minded than many of his kind, more willing to accept the truth of the Emperor’s will when it deviated from the stringent words of the Creed, but this was a difficult pill to swallow.

To accept that his brothers' deaths would go unavenged.

“Please, Alessa.” Isarae’s voice, broken and wet, spilled between the two of us. “Please… this… my sins cannot be washed away so easily, you know this.”

“The God-Emperor has willed—”

“—my _service,_ ” Isarae snarled over me. “But I am not so sanguine of my forgiveness, my heart.”

“You _are_ forgiven.”

“Alessa, _please!_ ” Isarae was clutching at herself as if she could dig her own aching heart out with her bare fingers. “I cannot bear this!”

That strange, golden calm washed over me again at her words. Just as before when my sisters raged against Utena, an impossible kind of certainty welled up in me.

“Is this your will?” I asked softly, raising my head to the heavens. “Father? Is this your will?”

Closing my eyes, I breathed deep, and felt for that light. It was not so different from the night of the storm when I cried out for my Father and He answered in the thunder and lightning of His glory. Now it was a quieter thing. A distant thunderhead raging at the edge of the horizon, but the sound was clear all the same.

“Sister Alessandra?” Utena said quietly. “What are you—?”

Ignoring the Canoness, I step past the Lord Angel until I’m standing over the kneeling Isarae who’s staring up at me with a pleading look. She is in pain… terrible, _terrible_ pain, and she needs me. Just as before, my beloved needs me, and I shall soothe her.

“Speak the words as they come,” I said simply before laying a hand on her brow. “You will know them, and they will know you, my dearest… so speak them now.”

Isarae worked her jaw several times before licking her lips and nodding, then pressed her forehead to my palm and closed her eyes.

“Speak.”

Isarae opened her mouth, and the words rang out on clarion chords.

“I am far from absolution. Lost to any exculpation. I offer myself to repentance.” Isarae bowed her head hard against my hand, and tears dripped from her cheeks to the clean tiled floor beneath her. “Before the Emperor I have sinned. Beyond forgiveness. Beyond forbearance. Beyond mercy. I shall seek the Emperor's forgiveness in the darkest places of the night.”

“When forgiveness is yours, we shall welcome you back.” I speak the ancient words, and there’s a hush of awe throughout the congregation. “Until such time you are nameless to…” I falter for a moment, only a moment, and then smile as that confidence fills me again. “...to all but I.”

“See me and do not see me,” Isarae chanted the words, despite having no way to know them. To know the oath of the penitent. “Know me and know fear, for I have no face today but this one. I stand before you a Repentia, until absolution finds me once more.”

“So—” My vision swam violently and I staggered as the holy light of my vision became blinding and burning all at once. “S-So…” I try again, but the words stick in my throat. I cannot see. Cannot hear. I am blind, truly blind, but I force the words out. “So shall it be!”

The words boomed and thundered through the congregation hall and came on the crash of lightning, although I’m not sure if I simply imagined that part as my senses swam vertiginiously and I staggered back, blind in the unseeing darkness as pain pounded at the walls of my skull.

And blessedly, I knew no more.


	36. Interact - Storm-Wending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a seer sees farther.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on twitter @Calchexxis and check out my Patreon for more original and fan works.

My dreams were dark for a very long time, and grew only darker as I spiraled through the multitudinous strands of the future. A thousand times a thousand-thousand lines of possibility, all folding in upon themselves like castles made of spun sugar cascaded around me as I pitched through the endless night of my mind. 

I remembered a storm of gold light and deepest shadow. I remembered excess unending and stagnation without limit. I recalled the deaths of a trillion souls to a hunger like no other, and I am not certain which, the light or the dark, I felt it from.

Perhaps both.

All I knew was that I wandered from that dark and lonely cascade of eternity into the fever pitch of wicked dreams until a voice pulled me from the shadows. A voice that I knew, although I could place it immediately, penetrated the cloy and mire to reach out and drag me forth.

“ _Menesa…_ ”

I landed with an impact that rang up my suddenly solid legs as my astral body found purchase somewhere in the Immaterial realms. . The abrupt weight of mass was claustrophobic with its intensity and for a moment I was assailed by terror. I pressed the fear down, passed through runic mnemonics to center myself, and channeled the excess psychic pressure building in me through those forms.

Runes of azure light bloomed around me, familiar symbols that shielded me from the eyes of the Serpent and the rage of the maelstrom. Finally settled, I took stock of myself and my landing.

I was on a hill. An outcropping I recognised. It was the point where, however long ago, I had stood my ground alongside my seers against the warpstorm that had crashed against this strange, human world. Sprawling out before me was the city, but it was different from my memories. The greater towers of metal and glass seemed to me almost like trees, while the lesser seemed like flowers. Near the middle, there was light… no, there were _twin_ lights. Lavender and gold shone from the center of the city, pillars of light like flowers that were twining with one another… twisting and curling around until the light seemed to be one source.

This revolted me as much as it fascinated me. I could not account for the truth of what I was seeing, only that there was something terrible about to happen, and a moment later my psychic senses were screaming as that premonition of terror became all too real.

From beneath the garden-like city, the ground swelled. The earth split and the tree-spires buckled as a mass rose from under the loam. There was such endless, searing hatred from it. There was a presence and a will, not a mind though… nothing so crude as a mind. It was so much greater than that.

“No, no no no,” I muttered the word over and over again as I backed away.

I did not want to see what was under the earth. I did not want to even glimpse it. I could not! I could not see it and remain whole!

“ _Menesa! Sister, please!_ ” 

My world bucked and heaved as I retreated from the vision. I burned out every rune to propel myself out of the semi-solid state into my astral form and ejected myself into the screaming dark.

“ _Menesa…_ ”

I listened for the voice. So familiar. So warm.

It felt like a journey of ages, passing through bog and fen and over mountains to reach the waking world, but I found the path. I’m not sure how long it actually took, but I followed the voice that called for me until I finally regained some sense of awareness of my own body, rather than the bodiless astral frame I occupied, or the avatar I had manifested.

“ _Menesa, return to me._ ”

The effort was torturous, but finally, after what felt like years, I forced my physical eyes open, and turned my head towards the voice that had called me back.

“Rhea?” I mumbled my sister’s name through half-numb lips. “You… you look terrible.”

And she did. My sister, so graceful and powerful, was a ruin of the woman I knew. Her warhelm was gone, and her armour grievously damaged. The patchwork repairs showed the best efforts of what bonesingers we had left after the localised warpstorm annihilated the more sensitive of our host, but the helm was gone entirely. Her face, once a pale study of fine, noble lines, was bruised black in places. Her jaw was clearly broken and held in place by a wraithbone brace to aid whatever healing had been rendered to her, and one of her eyes was swollen shut.

“You are no avatar of Lileath either,” Rhea grumbled as she collapsed by my cot and rested her back against it.

I don’t move. I don’t sit up. I’m not sure I can yet. My body is still asleep in part. My head aches abominably and I can barely close my hands into fists, much less do anything finer.

“You were right,” Rhea’s voice is muffled by the brace, but I could hear what it cost her to say that. “The ‘coincidence’... your flowers of white gold and pale lavender… I found them.”

For a long moment, I watched her. Never have I seen my sister look so broken. So defeated. She looked like a child, lost and confused, and that, more than anything, frightened me.

“What happened?”

Rhea breathed out a tortured sigh and shuddered. Something more fundamental than bone had been broken inside of her. I could feel it. I could feel the wounded rage pouring off of her, and at that moment I felt the future twist and wrench around her like a metal coil.

Her path was anchoring and the face of my sister, Rhea, bled away to be forever replaced by the face of Morai-Heg, the mother of the Banshees. I knew then that she would be lost to the path. Lost to the war mask. Perhaps not now, but soon.

“I do not know,” Rhea said weakly. “There was a Drukhari Wych, and yet not… she laughed and crowed praise to the Mon-Keigh corpse god. And there was another, a Mon-Keigh woman clad in their crude powered armour, but she moved like one of us… she danced like Aeldari.”

I stared at my sister while I tried to grasp her words. Nothing of what she said made any sense. Not really. The words… I understood the words that she said, but strung together as a sentence they made no sense.

A Drukhari, a dark one tainted by the kiss of the Great Serpent, and a Mon-Keigh woman, their souls bleeding into one another, twining together?

Briefly, a thought came to me. A thought that I had no business thinking if I were to have an opinion on the matter because it was so very hidebound. It was not even truly an Aeldari thought. It was, I think, more aptly a Mon-Keigh thought, and one that I have heard in my visions of the stunted and stubborn young race, and that thought was but a single word.

_Heresy._

Never before have I had occasion to feel so very attuned to this odd species of warmongering children.

“We must call the host,” Rhea said after a moment. “We cannot allow this. I should have trusted your sight, sister, and now we are in desperate straits, but we must have more from the Craftworld.”

“We must,” I agreed weakly. “But the threat has grown in scope, I have seen it.”

My sister turned her head back to me, a look of something very much like desperation in her eyes as she stared. I think she was hoping to see a hint of madness in me, or a lie, or something to suggest that I was not telling her the truth, and had I been able to offer her that, I would have.

Alas.

“We have witnessed an echo of the War in Heaven.” My sister breathed the words out with an edge of panic I’d never heard in her before. “The Serpent crashed against this world and was thrown back, I have seen my sisters die to a Drukhari Wych who sings Imperial hymns, and lost my sacred spear to a human woman who dances like Khaine… what scope lies beyond _that?_ ”

I closed my eyes and reached out, treading the old, familiar paths of the Sight as Master Oreval taught me. I let my mind trickle through the skeins of fate once more.

The warp was heaving. It was a bulbous, pregnant thing. Viscous and terrible. That presence was still there. A will as old as time and as young as hate. It was a madness so full in its totality that was distorting the fabric of the Aether. If such a mortal thing as linear direction could be applied to the warp, I would say there was something buried deep, deep, beneath the tides of power, and that it was rising to the surface, drawn by an unbridled chaos not even the Dark Gods could control.

“Equals and opposites,” I said finally. “Black and white. Stark divisions.”

“What does that mean, sister?” Rhea pleaded.

I opened my eyes and shuddered again.

“It means that, now,” I replied, looking over at her, “a petty war between Humans and Orks is the very least of our worries… so call the Craftworld. Call the Host.”

“What shall I request that they send?” She asked as she got shakily to her feet.

I didn’t want to close my eyes again. I didn’t want to feel that immense pressure of madness welling up from beneath me. Nor did I need to. I could recall it perfectly in my mind’s eye.

“Everything,” I answered, finally. “Tell them to empty every shrine and _send us everything._ ”


	37. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae watches Alessa sleep.

I did nothing to deserve this.

But what grace I have been given by mankind’s God-Emperor, I intend to use to its absolute fullest.

“Isarae, get back here!”

“I apologise, honored Canoness, but I cannot do that,” I replied tersely as I adjusted my grip on Alessa’s unconscious form while I strode quickly through the halls.

“She needs a medicae!” The Canoness snapped. Her counterpart, Anthia, was curiously silent. “One of the Sisters Hospitaller must see to her!”

“Unless your medicae are skilled in the treatment of warp shock I do not think they will be of any use,” I said without turning.

Utena and Anthia were following closely behind me along with a half-dozen of Alessa’s sister warriors. I understood their reticence, but they did not know the signs as I did. They did not know _Alessa_ as I did. I knew what she needed and it was not a medicae. It was not injectors of sedatives or stimulants because it was not her body that was overwhelmed.

It was her soul.

My precious Alessa called something down into herself when she spoke at the podium. Perhaps another miracle of her sainted Companions, or even the grace of the God-Emperor Himself. I could not be certain and did not care to speculate. I was no theologian, but I knew warp shock when I saw it. Her face was pallid, she was shaking and twitching, and there was a fever to her flesh that I knew all too well.

“Where are we even going?” Utena barked.

“Calm yourself, beloved,” Anthia said softly, catching up to her partner and putting a hand on the taller woman’s arm. “Can you not see?”

The doors to a small, private chapel we had passed upon arrival, one of hundreds in the Priory, loomed before us, and I moved to shoulder the doors open as I cradled Alessa.

The enormous, power-armoured hand of the Lord Angel pushed the door open before I was able to complete the action, and I glanced up at him briefly. His crimson eye-lenses were settled on me and I could still feel the weight of his judgment behind them.

“Thank you, Lord Angel,” I muttered before quickly moving past him towards the altar.

Here, at least, I judged we might have some privacy. Moreover, this place sang with the light of the God-Emperor even more so than the rest of the Priory, and it would soothe the worst of Alessa’s symptoms.

I stepped across the dais to the main altar and laid Alessa’s body atop it. The moment she touched the cool stone, her shaking subsided. She was still feverish and her complexion was not what I would call healthy, but a touch of colour was returning to her dusky skin.

Utena approached the edge of the altar and stopped beside me. Her eyes were settled on Alessa with something between awe and deep suspicion.

“Canoness Utena,” Lord Antares boomed from behind her. “You saw it. I know you did.”

“We all did,” Anthia answered for her partner as she joined her at Alessa’s side. “The light of the God-Emperor, blessed be His name, descended upon Sister Alessandra in that moment.”

“That is matter for the Ecclesiarchy to determine,” Utena said tersely.

“You saw it plain as the dawn,” I countered pointedly. “You saw then what I saw the night she interceded on my behalf.”

“What I saw—” Utena clenched her fists tightly as she spoke—“could have been many things, including a trick of the warp.”

I turned on Utena with a glare.

“When she touched me I knew the words I needed to say in an instant! Words I have neither heard nor read!”

“Implanting thoughts and knowledge is not beyond the art of a sorcerer,” Lord Antares said quietly. “But—”

“Madness!” I snarled, whirling on the Lord Angel. “You really think my Alessa—”

“— _But_ I do not think this one is a sorcerer.”

I clamped my mouth shut, swallowing my admonition and bowing my head in silent apology.

“Explain.” Utena turned to look at the Lord Angel, who shook his head. The effect was one of a mountain shifting in its sleep.

“Not me,” he said softly.

As he spoke, the door creaked open, and another of the Emperor’s Angels stepped into the chapter. This one was a bit taller than Antares, but narrower of build. Unlike Antares, he went unhelmed, but I could not see his face for the deep, shadowed cowl that hung over it. Beads of dark Crystal were woven throughout the hood, and it melded seamlessly with the burial shroud-like surplice he wore.

Most pointedly, though, was the powerful aura of psychic energy that clung to him like a shadow.

“Brother,” Antares said, turning. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course,” he replied. His voice had a studious quality to it that might be reedy were it not so deep. “Is this girl the Singularity?”

“Potentially,” Antares answered before turning back to myself and the Canonesses who were looking at the new arrival with undisguised tension. “May I introduce Codicier Largos. He is a veteran with our Chapter’s Librarius and can explain this matter better than I.”

“What do you mean ‘Singularity’?”

The Astartes psyker turned his shrouded gaze to me, and I could sense a smile beneath the cowl.

“Your face is known to our Chapter Librarius as Isarae, Wych Succubus of Commorragh,” Largos said without accusation.

I still bowed my head in shame.

“I know my sins, Lord Angel,” I replied.

“Do you?” His covered head cocked at an odd angle as he spoke. “The one standing before me resembles that creature only in the most superficial sense.”

I raised my head to regard the old psyker cautiously. Like the Lord Angel Antares, Lord Largos had a curious silence about him that had nothing to do with his armour. His soul was a whisper in the dark, a shifting of soft cloth against smooth stone that barely echoed in the empyreal halls of the Warp and that, combined with a clear natural talent for moving silently made him even less obtrusive than his Brother Angel.

“That I have given myself to the light of Him On Earth does not change the harm I have brought to your Chapter, nor to the galaxy and the demesne of mankind as a whole,” I said.

“Then know this, Isarae of the Imperium—” the new title put a shock through my soul and stirred something in me—“that you are born new in the light of our Father’s Father, and that if God-Emperor has personally sanctioned you, then that is a fine enough explanation for me.”

“Brother Largos—!” Lord Antares began but halted as his elder brother raised a gauntleted hand to silence him.

“Do you not see the grace in this, Brother Antares?” Largos said quietly, and lowered his hand as he did to rest his armoured palm on my head like a priest granting a benediction. “You are young, but I ask that you soothe your choler and take a moment to appreciate what this newborn child of the Golden Throne means for the Iron Wraiths.”

“I…” Lord Antares trailed off, and I could feel him staring at me. 

Carefully, I turned my head to look up at the Lord Angel who had leveled his justified accusation at me. Despite his helm and the crimson lenses, the set of his body was different now. The anger and the hatred were gone, and in its place was something like… awe? 

Slowly, he raised a clenched fist and pressed it over his chest as he bowed slightly to his elder. “I acknowledge my error, Master Codicier, and I thank you for your wisdom.”

“Now, to the Singularity,” Largos said, stepping past me and withdrawing his hand.

How odd, for me not to feel even a sliver of fear at his proximity. A year ago had I been in that position it would only have been very shortly preceding the moment before the Astartes pulped my head like an overripe fruit. Now, though, there was a deep and abiding comfort to the touch, something almost paternal that I had never known even in my long, long life.

Standing, I trailed behind the Codicier beside Lord Antares who had taken to looking at me time and again as if seeing me for the very first time.

“If I may, Honored Canonesses?” Lord Largos asked, bowing slightly which gave him a curiously stooped posture for a moment before the two shorter, and very human, women, who politely stood aside. “Thank you.”

Largos loomed over Alessa, his strangely gentle motions and demeanor at odds with his enormity and the broad power of his warplate. With silent care, Largos reached into his surplice and withdrew a small box that looked almost toy-like in his hands, and carefully opened it.

First out of the box came a small ceramic plate, then an oddly-shaped lump of something fragrant I took to be some kind of incense, and with it came a small bottle of something viscous which he poured over the lump before closing the box and replacing it.

With every motion, I could feel the walls between this place, and the Warp, thinning, and yet at the same time there was a sense of being safeguarded, not unlike standing inside of a stout building while a tempest raged outside. The walls of the Priory were more than just physical, they resonated with the faith and prayers of the sisters who had resided within them for hundreds of years. Centuries of wards and protections chanted by martyrs of the faith and defended by those same holy sisters held fast against the torment of the Warp as Largos stretched his hand, and his soul, out over the unconscious form of my darling Alessa.

The lump of incense lit without warning, warming and igniting before spilling a cloying, pungent scent across the chapel as Largos hovered his armored hand over Alessa’s body. Psychic hoarfrost formed over the metal exposed from his surplice, and an odd, tinny ringing emanated from the psychoactive crystal spun through his hood as he focused.

As one, Canoness Utena and Canoness Anthia dropped to their knees to fold their hands across their chests in the form of the Aquila, and began to chant litanies to the Emperor, begging His protection from the touch of the unclean. Lord Antares stood vigil, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched his Brother Codicier at work.

I had no doubt the Astartes was ready though, in the unlikely event that some peril afflicted his brother, to grant mercy to his Brother Angel.

As for myself, I stood in the presence of the warp for the first time without fear. No terror of the Great Serpent held me as I watched the Astartes psyker work his grim gift.

“The Emperor Protects.” My words echoed softly through the chapel. “The Emperor Protects.”

“Deeper,” Lord Largos rumbled. “I must go deeper.”

The air was pregnant with potential and intent; power unfulfilled whispered at the edges of my mind as strange shadows flitted past the stained glass windows, and somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard weeping as faint crackles of corpusant lit the crystals of Lord Largos’ hood. My mind was beginning to cloud and my senses spun with vertigo as voices clawed at the inside of my skull.

I clasped my hands over my ears and fell to my knees. I could hear them. I could hear Her. She was still there, at the edge of my soul, at the roots of my tree, gnawing and worrying at the bark to get at my soul. The Prince of Excess, She Who Thirsts, she—!

“Heed not the words of the Neverborn, little sister.” Lord Antares’ voice cut through the malaise of my mind like a cold blade as the welcome weight of his hand settled on my shoulder, and a curious stillness passed into me. “Your soul burns and rages… you must soothe and be silent. Pray with me… 

“In the shadows I wait, for the shadows are cast by He who is brightest. His light I shall catch upon my hate, for such is the blade given unto me…”

I repeated the words as carefully as I could, fighting through the fever pitch of the warp that was clouding me.

“...and by holy contempt will these shadows consume me, to emerge only by the hand of my Father’s Father, for contempt is my armour against the corruption…”

With every syllable passing my lips, the fever faded, and something like a sigh of relief echoed through me.

“…as faith is my shield against the temptation of heresy, that I shall stand in the comfort of the shadow of the Father of my Father forever and ever and ever.”

“ _Ave Imperator ad Domine Aeternum._ ”

The last words are spoken together, Lord Antares and I, my voice melded with his baritone rumble in a new way. To think that once I had imagined that I had experienced all things in this galaxy, only to be humbled so fully and thoroughly by a race I had thought to be barely sapient. Now I am enraptured by the smallest things… the light of the sun, the sound of Alessa’s voice, the way the tones of a penitent Drukhari and an Astartes sound when praying together…

I was such a fool.

Such a damned fool.

“Isarae?”

I jerked to my feet with little grace and indecent haste at the sound of my name—at the sound of _Alessa_ saying my name—and stumbled away from the Lord Angel towards the altar as Lord Largos was lowering his hand. The frost was fading from his pauldrons and gauntlet as he blew out a breath that misted in the air in front of him as he stepped back to allow me by.

Then I was past him, and Alessa was laying on her back on the altar still, but her eyes were now open. They were still blind and empty, but she turned to face me all the same as I dropped to my knees at her side and wrapped her in my arms.

“Alessa,” I whispered her name as I buried my face in her hair and kissed her head. “You’re safe, you’re alright… thank the Emperor.”

“I am, my love,” Alessa muttered weakly. “But I have news I must share, so please… help me up.”

I knew better than to argue with her, so I worked myself under her arm and took her weight to pull her up until she was sitting on the altar.

“So, Brother?” Lord Antares asked as he stepped onto the dais. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” the Codicier replied calmly.

“Then… she is not the Singularity?” Lord Antares said, turning to regard the pair of us curiously before looking back to his psyker brother.

Lord Largos shook his head. “I did not say that, I said that I saw nothing.”

“Does that mean I will die, then?” Alessa asked, and the question put a spear of ice into my heart that only melted when Lord Largos shook his head again.

“The death of one such as you, Sister Alessandra, would echo like a wound in the warp,” Lord Largos said wryly. “I would have seen that, or at least a vision of it… no, I mean I saw precisely what I said I saw… nothing. I looked into your future and I saw nothing, not because you will die, but because, if I am correct, then your future is yet unknown even to the powers that be.”

Alessa stared at the old psyker for a long moment before looking back at me. I had no comfort for her. I had no concept of being without a fate. My people were fated from birth til our inevitable deaths, save for myself.

“But we are all of us accounted for,” Alessa argued. “So it is written!”

“We are,” Lord Largos agreed. “All of us except for you. You are like a fixed point in the Warp that has somehow learned to move for itself. You, Sister Alessandra, are a singularity of pure potential, and you may either be the greatest boon we could ask for… or the herald of our total damnation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	38. Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessa brings hope... and war.

“I did nothing to deserve this.” 

I repeated the words as much for myself as for my impromptu audience. Two Angels, one I recognised and one I did not but who was introduced to me by Lord Antares as Codicier Largos. At his title, I felt an instinctive twist in my stomach. He was a psyker mutant, however shackled and well-practised, but then again I am not certain I have a doctrinal leg to stand on in terms of judging others for their proximity to the Warp, at the moment.

“It is not a matter of what we deserve,” Canoness Utena said, finally speaking up as she stood. “You should know that better than most.”

She looked pointedly between myself and Isarae, and I flushed at the implication even though I had no rational argument against it. To me, Isarae was worthy of redemption, but then I was also in love with her, so I suppose that made me somewhat biased.

“Herald of Damnation feels a bit overwrought, though, don’t you think?” Isarae remarked as she settled a hand protectively on my shoulder and met Lord Largos’ shrouded gaze. “Alessa would never fall.”

“That is not for you to decide,” Largos replied softly. “You speak without understanding, ‘O Child of Lost Stars.”

“Then I beg of you, please explain.” I spoke before Isarae could. I could feel her bristling with wounded pride at the Lord Angel’s tone. Repentant or not, Isarae was still an ancient creature. “Please, Lord Angel, I must know.”

“We all must, I think,” Canoness Anthia said, her gentle, melodic voice clearing the air as she stood by her partner’s side. “The Emperor’s Tarot paints these two as the lynchpin of our stand on our besieged world, but I fail to understand _how_. My faith is such that I will proceed regardless, but I will not watch my sisters die for our blindness, Lord Angel!”

Lord Largos stepped back, folding his fingers together in front of him as he made a small, thoughtful hum in the back of his throat before turning to his Brother. I wondered if they were sharing some silent rapport or, perhaps given the nature of Codicier Largos, a more supernatural one.

Turning back to us, Lord Largos sighed quietly as he put his hands to the edges of his cloth hood and drew it back to reveal a face ravaged by age and communion with powers beyond the ken of most mortals, which even my eyes could parse, with his features cast in stark relief by his powerful soul. A blinder was wrapped around his eyes, and I was reminded of some of the older astropaths, although Lord Largos was far haler than they. Four metal studs adorned the left side of his brow, and I thought he might have been very handsome once, long ago, before he became a demigod.

“Your nature is a mystery that has yet to resolve itself to us, Sister Alessandra,” Largos began, speaking in a slow and careful manner that I misliked for a number of reasons.

“But you know,” I say, more than ask.

“It is not your place to question the Master Codicier, Sister,” Utena said sharply, raising a hand between the pair of us before turning to the psyker. “I will be blunt, Lord Angel, while I have nothing but reverence for your Chapter, I do not trust those who wield the Warp. You say her nature is a mystery, yet you admit to knowing more, and despite that you will not speak of it?”

“If I knew something that would help, I would share it,” Largos said more easily, and that, at least, I believed. “At this moment, I possess only conjecture, and uncertain knowledge is perhaps more dangerous than anything else at this moment.”

“Then what are we to make of the Tarot?” Anthia asked, turning to Utena. “If the hope of the city lay with Sister Alessandra and—” I can almost hear the gears in Anthia’s brain hit a mental stone and grind painfully before she manages to say—“Sister Isarae…”

Canoness Utena lets out a slow breath between her teeth as she raises a single hand to grip the bridge of her nose before mumbling something both unintelligible and possibly sacrilegious under her breath.

“I think I may know the answer to that,” I say before Utena can suffer a coronary. “While I… I slept, I saw something, or rather I believe I was shown something.”

That drew the attention of everyone in the room, including Isarae who looked to me not with curiosity but concern.

“A vision?” Utena asked, hope coloring her voice as she looked up at me.

“Perhaps.” 

Claiming to have visions from the God-Emperor was, traditionally, an excellent way to find oneself on the business end of the witchfinders, and that was a best-case scenario, but I suppose in our dire straits my honored sisters were willing to take my word to a certain extent.

“What did you see?” Isarae asked quietly. “The future is not easily glimpsed, and never without peril.”

Soft laughter bubbled up from me as Isarae put her hand to my cheek, and there was worry in her eyes as she searched me, no doubt, for some subtle corruption. In her defense, I’d have likely been doing the same, but…

“My visions,” I began, “If that was indeed what they were, stemmed from the God-Emperor, and He would not imperil my soul, ‘Rae.”

“The Emperor Protects,” she said quietly. “What did you see?”

Closing my eyes, I cast my mind back to the dark dreams I’d experienced after the shadows closed in around me on the pulpit. At first, it had been like swimming through a mire; vision and sound were blurry and faint, but present all the same. I recall trying to move towards the noises and the light, driven by an impulse to know what lay beyond the darkness, and eventually, I emerged into that strange place.

“A Temple to the God-Emperor,” I said, dredging my memory as best as I could. “Or a shrine, mayhap… I remember the cold stone and the smell of incense. I remember voices, rough and weary, speaking to one another in a furtive fashion. I remember moving through the halls, passing figures in fatigues. There were hundreds—no thousands—and they were trapped or… hiding… I cannot say.”

“Were there any distinguishing marks?” Anthia asked. “Anything to point to a particular shrine?”

I tried to sharpen my focus but—

“Do not strain, my heart.” Isarae’s voice whispered softly at my ear. “Dreams are as fragile as smoke… grip tightly and they will disperse, you must relax and allow the smoke to flow toward you.”

The familiar weight and grip of Isarae’s hands settled on my shoulders, then move up along my neck, and everywhere she touched, she pressed in an odd rhythm that relaxed the muscles from my shoulders up, and up, until her fingers settled on my forehead and moved in gentle circles.

“Our dreams return to us like a bird to its nest,” Isarae continued. “Breathe, _Cre’yth_ , and remember.”

Were it anyone else, I would be fighting the instinct to relax, but I had spent too long relaxing under Isarae’s touch and now it was instinct to do so. More than that, I trusted her, so I let myself relax, I loosened my grip and…

“The Imperial Eagle—” my words came out slurred and languid—“with blossoms clasped in its claws and a crown of flames above it.”

“The Torch Imperialis.” Anthia looked sharply over at her fellow Canoness.

Opening my eyes, I shook the cloy of sleep from my head and jerked upright. I’d very nearly fallen asleep against Isarae as she massaged my temples. I hadn’t realise how absolutely exhausted I was. I haven’t properly slept in almost three cycles and it was catching up to me.

“The Torch,” I repeated the word, searching my memory for the familiar title. “That’s… an ancient shrine, one of the oldest in the subsector, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Utena said. “It was the first Imperial Temple laid down by the Ministorum when Praelex was colonised. They arrived with a contingent of Sisters from the Order of the Sacred Rose who would later splinter to create our minor Order of the Radiant Wisteria.”

“The birthplace of our Sisterhood,” I said, a feeling of awe creeping over me.

“And the reason our order will never cease fighting for this city,” Anthia replied. “The Convent Arborea will send more reinforcements eventually, but it will take time to muster and draw the reserves, and yet more time to traverse the Empyrean.”

“Til then, we are on our own,” Utena finished grimly. “But you say you saw warriors in fatigues occupying the Torch?”

“Dragoons,” I clarified, suddenly certain of it. “A regiment of them traveled with my Commandery. I recognise their colors and fatigue patterns.”

“Then the Shrine still holds.” Anthia folds her hands over her chest as she sighs in relief. “Thank the Emperor.”

“But they are flagging.” I thought back to the sounds of their voices, so heavy with exhaustion. “Where is the Shrine? Why have we not occupied it ourselves?”

“Because it is in the heart of the Greenskin lines,” Antares interrupted. “The Greenskins arrived on several of their crude Roks and impacted at the border nearest the Shrine before rapidly overrunning that whole quarter of the Hive. Contact was lost with the Shrine in the first days of the invasion.”

“In truth, we had thought it lost and looted and hoped only that we might reclaim it at the end of all of this,” Utena remarked. “To know that it still stands… that it is still defended brings hope to my tired heart, and it will bring that same hope to our sisters!”

“Then we have our purpose.” For the first time since I’d met her, Anthia’s face bloomed into a full smile, and it was radiant. The expression quickly moved to Utena’s hard-edged features, which softened considerably at the sight of her partner’s joy.

“As the Emperor Wills so do we obey,” Lord Largos said with a faint grin as he turned to Isarae and I.

“To arms then?” I asked, looking up at Canoness Utena.

“Aye, little sister,” she replied, a smirk playing across her narrow lips. “The Sisters of Radiant Wisteria finally have a war to prosecute once more, and we shall bring the fury and fury of our faith against the green invader.”

The news of the Torch Imperialis’ survival spread through the Priory of Gardens like wildfire, and where it passed new flames of hope burned brighter than ever as my Sisters armed and armoured themselves for war. The whole of the Priory smelt of incense being burned at almost every censer, and clouds of fragrant smoke billowed from the armouries where the sacred wargear of the Sisterhood was being sanctified for holy warfare. 

Prayers echoed through the chambers and halls, ceremonies were held, led by the Sister Superiors of each squad for every member of the Priory.

All but Isarae and I.

“You do not have to remain with me,” Isarae said quietly as she knelt in a small, private chapel in the least populated wing of the Priory.

‘Least Populated’, in fact, meant entirely unpopulated, as the Sisters Repentia who once resided in the dormitory of this wing joined the God-Emperor in his eternal war after the disastrous ambush by Warboss Kritrig. They had given their lives in joyous martyrdom, but that had left the whole of the wing that was given over to them empty.

“Where else would I go?” I asked softly as I moved around her and knelt at her side. “Do you think I would be anywhere but at your side, dear Isarae?”

“You are among your sisterhood again,” she replied. “You should be among them.”

“They would not welcome me.”

“And you do nothing to change that by remaining apart from them,” Isarae remarked as she turned her head to face me. “I am not a child, Alessa. I know your love does for me is not lessened by distance, I will not begrudge you the time it takes to repair your bonds with your sisters.”

“I know.” I laid a hand on the grip of the tool that lay before Isarae.

The grip was smooth, cold steel attached to a series of coils which extend out into a long, heavy tail studded with psychoactive nodes. The neural whip was a tool of encouragement and punishment alike, and the two were not necessarily separate. As much a mark of rank for the wielder, the Mistress of the Repentia.

“I do not deserve this title I’ve been given, however perfunctory it may be,” I said as I raised my hand to brush my fingers along her cheek, “but I will not stand aside and allow you to undergo your first flagellation in a cold, empty chapel.”

Isarae chuckled.

“Dearest Alessa, I was a Wych of Commorragh,” she said, laughing around her words. “This will _not_ be my first flagellation… nor even my thousandth.”

“This is different.”

Her laughter faded somewhat, and after a moment she nodded as she looked down at the whip.

“Let me lead you in this,” I said the words, even as they put a pit in my stomach. “I brought you to this place. I brought you into His light… this is my duty.”

Isarae shook her head. “You would punish yourself?”

“I would share your suffering,” I corrected gently.

“You don’t have to,” she said.

“But I wish to.”

“Why?”

I don’t answer immediately. The words are there, but the order of them, the fashion of saying them, have to be correct. I owed that to Isarae and I needed her to understand with clarity why I wanted to do this, not only to punish myself, but…

“Because I love you,” I replied finally. “And because in love, we share all things… joy and suffering alike.” Looking up at her, I leaned in and pressed my forehead to hers. “My heart, my Isarae, will you let me suffer with you?”

My soulsight felt the tears that trickled down Isarae’s cheeks as much as saw them, and a heartbeat later she leaned in to press her lips fondly to mine. The kiss was soft and gentle, a familiar touch that told me everything she couldn’t put into words. The taste of her, I think, is something that will stay with me all of my life, no matter what happens or how distant we are from one another, the taste of her lips will haunt me for the rest of my days.

Pulling away from her, I took a firm grip on the whip and moved behind Isarae to begin undoing the clasps of her armour. They were well hidden to most, but not me. I had had far too much experience undressing her for that. Her artfully slashed cuirass fell away, and I laid it beside her.

“Prostrate yourself before the Golden Throne, Repentia.” My words came out harsh as I stood, cycled up the miniature generator inside the hilt, set the shock nodes to low charge, and cracked the whip against the stone floor.

“Blessed be our suffering,” Isarae recited as she bowed fully forward, exposing the pale flesh of her back to me.

“For blessed is He who suffers for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	39. Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae engages in warfare. Imperial warfare.

“This situation isn’t what I’d call ideal.”

“The God-Emperor guides us, ‘Rae, it is not our place to question orders,” Alessa replied. 

Her voice was washed with static from the commbead in my ear, barely heard over the howling engines of the VTOL that echoed tinnily inside the armoured cabin of the aircraft as it powered towards the Torch Imperialis. It was one of two that survived the disaster of the Convent’s landing, and it, plus the four that belonged to the Priory of Gardens itself, made a total of six landing craft capable of traversing the ruined Hive of Amphitria and making a safe landing at the temple.

“A different question, then, _Crey’th_.” I have to shout just to make myself heard through the comms system.

“Yes?”

“This Temple of the God-Emperor,” I started. “Why was the Priory not simply built over it?”

Alessa shook her head, although it was a small movement in the restricted range of her armour. The Chapel Armour we’d reclaimed what felt like a lifetime ago, and which was now fully repaired, sat well on her, and her helm had been ritually modified to bear the heavy face-crest of her station as Repentia Mistress, although currently, the Repentia consisted entirely of myself, so the ‘promotion’ was largely ceremonial.

It was also, I believe, an excuse to keep my Alessa from mingling too much with the line sisters who still looked upon the both of us with suspicion and resentment, if not outright hatred.

“The Temple is Ecclesiarchal,” Alessa replied. “We are the Chamber Militant of the Ecclesiarchy, but our Orders are separate. We protect the Torch Imperialis, but tradition dictates we establish our Convent and associated Priories elsewhere.”

“Why not establish the Convent itself here for greater numbers, then?” I asked.

“Also tradition,” she replied with a dry chuckle. “The seat of power of the blessed Ecclesiarchal Priesthood, and the seat of the Sisterhood, are traditionally on different worlds. It’s the same in the Sol System. The Ecclesiarchal Palace on Holy Terra is the seat of the Holy Synod, while the Cardinal World of Ophelia VII bears the great Convent Sanctorum of the Sisters of Battle. Obviously, there are members of both divied between the two great worlds, but the seats of power remain divided as dictated by Sebastian Thor.”

To mitigate potential power struggles, in short, although I did not say it. This man, Thor, was a wise one. There was very little regarding him in the limited texts I had the chance to consume beyond the apocryphal and mythological, but my understanding was that it was his faith which forged the shape of the Ministorum’s current existence. It was also his design that crafted the Sisters of Battle, as a reflection of the original Companions, among whom was Saint Arabella.

So then, if the Synod and the Convents were on different worlds and in different systems it would allow the two orders to operate with some degree of autonomy regardless of what the other did. To my best understanding, the Sisterhood was subservient to the Ecclesiarchy, but despite that their hierarchies and leadership remained separate.

In other words, they were not unlike the Wych Cults relationship to the main power structures of the various Kabals within Commorragh.

I did not make that comparison aloud. Good sense said it would likely not be appreciated with good humor.

“Do your sisters expect us to die?” I asked over our private channel.

'Private' being true only in the practical sense since it was simply the Repentia’s channel.

“I rather suspect some of them do,” Alessa replied. There was a touch of laughter in her voice though. “But Canoness Utena has faith in our ability to survive the onslaught we will be enduring, and we will have long-range fire support from the remaining Retributors.”

“I’m not strictly comfortable laying heavy weapons fire on a holy site,” I said with a grimace.

“Nor would I be,” Alessa admitted. “Fortunately, the main threshold is an Administratum enclave, not temple grounds, so its demolition would occur for cleansing purposes anyway.”

“Still, this plan is…” I did not want to disparage the tactical senses of the Canoness’s, but even by Drukhari standards this was suicide, so I settled instead on, “very… human.”

Alessa’s laughter crackled over the vox, bringing a smile to my face.

“The God-Emperor loves all martyrs, dear Isarae,” she said warmly. “Should we fall today it will be in the glory of sacred warfare against His foes to reclaim a Temple protected by His legions, and that is a good death by any merit.”

“So long as our deaths come as one,” I replied firmly, “ then it shall be a happy end.”

And with that end would come absolution. Death has had many meanings to me over my terrible lifetime. For the longest time, I feared it. I moved faster and faster away from it, drowning myself in sensation and psychic sin to armour my soul against the gnawing hunger of the Great Serpent. Then I came to resent it. To hate it. I raged against it out of spite and fury for how miserable a fate had been exacted on me by no say or sin of my own. That I should suffer for the decadence of the past boiled my blood.

Eventually, that hate burned out, and with it went the fear. It left me cold and numb even to the extremes of hedonism and slaughter until finally, I could take no more of it. In that moment, death became welcome only as a solace to ennui, and so I sought it out to quell that sinking, stupefying nothingness, and in the hour of my death, I found her.

My salvation and my heart.

My dearest and most beloved Alessandra.

Now… now I welcome death only as it comes to me in her arms, and I do so in the knowledge that when this body closes its eyes for the last time, they shall open again at the God-Emperor’s side. So to, will Alessa be there with me, in death as she was in life, and that knowledge; that I will be her strong right arm through the warp and weft of eternity, soothes the ache of sin in my heart like nothing ever has.

“Alessa?”

“Mm? What is it, ‘Rae?” Alessa looked up from her bolter, and I felt her smile from beneath her helm. “Is something the matter?”

I shook my head, smiling as I watch her. I smile for her because I know that she does not see through the lenses of that helm. She sees through the fires of the soul, and I know that she can see my smile. 

“No, nothing is the matter… nothing at all,” I replied.

The vox crackled and snapped as the override channel breached into the Repentia network, and the voice Canoness Utena came through in unsteady clarity of mankind’s crude communications system.

// _Sisters of Battle! War is upon us once again!_ // Even over the VTOL’s howl, the crash and roar of the other sisters in the cabin rang throughout. // _We descend upon the Torch Imperialis, from which the light of the God-Emperor first illuminated the darkness of this subsector, with the wrath of the Golden Throne at our backs to purge the alien from its sacred halls and bring succor to our beleaguered comrades who have defended it for so long without respite!_ //

Canoness Utena’s words quickened the beat of my heart, we would be landing soon, and the plan would come down to the two of us, Alessandra and I, and whatever Retributors remained among the line sisters.

// _Sisters, arm thyselves and say thy final prayers,_ // Utena continued. // _VTOL one through five, mark approach vector to the steeple! We fight to reclaim the temple’s primary voxhailer to establish communications with the regiment below us, but to do that we must draw the Green’s eyes away from the heights and down to the ground._ // The cabin began to rattle and shake beneath me as explosions thud dully outside from the Ork’s crude anti-air defenses. // _VTOL six! Descend to two hundred meters and deploy Repentia!_ //

Two Repentia against half an army.

That was the plan.

Alessa and I were to walk up to the main approach, thumb our noses in the Orks' faces, and draw them into combat long enough for the Retributors to deploy safely into the meager cover afforded by the bombed-out hab blocks. Until then, though, we were on our own. No aid would be afforded to us for that window save for what we could give one another.

// _Sisters, are you ready?_ // Canoness Anthia’s dulcet tones came over the vox curiously clearly despite the static.

“We are, Canoness,” Alessa replied across our shared network.

// _Then descend on wings of fire, Sisters, and may the God-Emperor go with you._ //

“The Emperor protects!”

Alessa and I both belted out the comforting adage as we stood from the crash seats. The emergency lighting in the VTOL washed us in crimson as the hydraulics for the rear hatch groaned. Icy air flooded the cabin as the hatch cracked out and began winding down, illuminating the both of us in the stark light of day.

Alessa was double-checking the harness and seals where her armour met the disposable jump pack. Her bolter, freshly sanctified and rearmed, was maglocked to her thigh, and around her waist was the coiled length of my razorflail which she had eschewed the traditional neural whip for.

“Are you sure you’re alright wielding that?” Alessa asked, looking back over at me. “I can claim a chainsword if you’d like your flail back.”

“Stop fretting, Alessa,” I laughed as I stepped past her towards the open hatch, hefting the considerable mass of my new weapon with me. “You need the practice, and besides, I’ve always wanted to use one of these monsters in combat! See you in the air!”

“Isarae—!”

I pitched myself from the hatch of the VTOL before Alessa could further the argument, and instantly my world became a cacophony of engine wash and roaring winds as I fell through the air towards the open and ruined boulevard below. Even from this height and at this speed I could pick out the blown-out vehicles, shredded streets, and among them the smears of old gore where desperate stands had taken place. Humankind, as always, had died badly and loud, but that, in itself, was a virtue that I had only recently come to appreciate.

A new sound deafened me to all others. A throaty bellow of rockets preceded the impact of two arms snatching me from my freefall, and I laughed while Alessa cursed viciously as she tried to steer the ungainly system.

“I don’t—frak—know how the Seraphim manage these— _FRAK!_ —blasted things!”

Admittedly, Alessa had only had a short period of time to practice with the jump pack beyond the requisite lessons she’d undergone as a trainee which, as I understood it, were relatively bare-bones and involved only what was needed to ensure the novitiates could manage a high altitude insertion without braining themselves on landing.

“You fly like a thrown brick!” I crowed over the vox.

“Oh, shut up!” Alessa snarled back as she righted herself briefly before heaving me upwards.

Turning on the weight of my weapon, I bled out the momentum of my arrested fall with a series of corkscrews before landing in a roll that ended me facing the edifice of the Administratum facade while Alessa continued to curse above me before coming to a crashing halt that was softened by a blast of thrust from the jetpack. She stumbled a few meters past me before spitting out another series of colourful gothic invectives and yanking on the straps and seals to shed the weight of the pack.

“Never again,” Alessa panted as she took a knee to catch her breath. “From now on, if I’m flying, it’s in a VTOL, a Thunderhawk, or nothing.”

“I think you did fine, my heart,” I said as I stepped up beside her and fondly patted her on top of her helmet.

“Don’t you patronise me, ‘Rae,” Alessa shot back, but there was a smile on her lips as she spoke.

She rolled her shoulders to loosen her joints as she stood, and while she did that I tugged the crimson-stained swathes of sackcloth that adorned my body back into place before pulling the hood over my head that covered the top half of my face ending at the bridge of my nose.

Not particularly functional, but it wasn’t about function, it was about symbolism. This is, I think, another virtue of mankind that has gone unappreciated by the Aeldarii as a whole. We see them as crude idolaters without good sense or a lick of sanity, and while that may be true, the much deeper truth is that that very lack of sanity creates powerful symbolism in everything they do.

That, I think, is why they are so dominant despite their shortcomings. The symbols of mankind echo in the warp, beating it into submission with their raw, blind zealotry and pure, unadulterated intention.

Planting the heavy head of my new weapon onto the ground, I kneel and press my forehead to the teeth just deep enough that they prick through the cloth and into my skin. Blood, warm and wet, flows down my face as I begin to pray.

“God-Emperor on Holy Terra, I consecrate this battle to you,” I muttered the words as Alessa stepped past me toward the facade. I could hear the hooting and crude tongue of the Greenskins starting up. The Tide was roused. “In life and in death, I worship you. In war and peace, I honor you. Spend the coin of my blood upon the deaths of thy foes and I shall empty their veins in your name!”

“Beautifully said, my love,” Alessa said before tapping the side of her helmet, and I heard the audible click as she swapped to the laudhailer function in her helm as she spread her arms boastfully wide.

// _GREENSKINS! I AM SISTER ALESSANDRA ARTUS AND I HAVE HEARD YOU ARE MIGHTY WARRIORS! BUT I SEE ONLY A RABBLE OF OVERSTUFFED COWARDS WHO SHELTER BEHIND WALLS! WHERE ARE THESE SO-CALLED BLOODTHIRSTY FIGHTERS AMONG YOU? SURELY YOU HAVE BUT A FEW TO SPARE TO AMUSE ME!_ //

The vicious, feral bellows of the Orks hit an instant fever pitch, and I couldn’t keep the smile from my face at the simple elegance of that taunt. On the upside, Alessa had certainly ensured that the weight of the Greenskin garrison’s attention would be focused on us, on the downside, that meant we would be in for an exceptionally deadly fight.

The sealed gates of the enclave burst open as an Ork, likely whichever one was nearest to the door, barreled out with a wet, raucous scream of WAAAUUGGH.

Its warcry was immediately and violently truncated as Alessa's hand snapped to her waist, released the maglock seal on her bolter, brought it up in one smooth movement, and fired a single shot. The bolter barked and the Ork’s head detonated with a satisfying pop.

“I think that went into its mouth,” I remarked as the Ork’s body dropped bonelessly to the ground.

“Hmm.” Alessa cocked her head slightly at the now-headless Ork. “I was aiming for its chest.”

“As the Emperor Wills.”

Alessa’s laughter was a strong, rich sound that warmed me from the inside, and I smiled beneath my crimson half-mask as the air filled with the glutinous roar of hundreds of Orks echoing from within the edifice before us. The green tide was rising and now I must step forward to meet it, so I do so, and I do it by dragging the enormous weight of the eviscerator chainsword I’d spent the past half-cycle practicing with along with me. The weapon was a cumbersome behemoth of crude fury and wrath, but there was something fundamentally honest about it that appealed to me more than I expected.

“You are more beautiful than ever, my love,” Alessa said as I moved past her.

Glancing over my shoulder, I showed Alessa my smile. She once told me she could see my emotions reflected in the light of my soul, so let her see the joy in my eyes, and the faith burning in my heart as the unhealthy cough and chug of Ork shootas started up their brittle cacophony.

The boulevard shook as the entrance to the enclave suddenly filled with Greenskin looters and killers. They boiled out of the doors and the windows, smashing through their own hastily erected barricades to more quickly flood onto the street. Dozens, then better than a hundred, then even more spilled out from the once-Imperial bastion of law and order. Their blood was up, and their tempers with it. It takes a certain kind of madness to stand before a stronghold of the enemy, outnumbered and outgunned, and deliberately stir them to frenzy.

Madness, yes. Or faith. Perhaps there is not so much difference between the two as I once imagined.

Bolt shells spat and whizzed overhead as a fraction of the Orks that were charging us began firing in our direction, although I doubted even the weight of fire they could levy were all of them firing at once would make up for their atrocious aim.

“Why do they even have those?” I asked, nodding towards the few Orks who weren’t simply shooting straight up into the air with their crude bolt pistols.

Alessa shrugged as she hefted her bolter, took a knee, and braced the weapon.

“I imagine they simply like the sound.”

Without another word, Alessa flicked the bolter to full auto, braced, and pulled the trigger. The bolter roared like a smaller god, spilling explosive fury into the onrushing masses. Chests, legs, heads, and arms exploded in patterns of gore, cutting a chunk out of the front line of charging Orks before the hammer slammed down on an empty chamber. With a smooth economy of action, Alessa cleared the empty magazine, slammed a new one home, pulled the slide-loader, braced, and repeated the process.

Dozens more fell and dozens more took their place as the bolter fell dry on the second magazine, its muzzle glowing orange from muzzle flare.

“Slay them my love!” Alessa bellowed as she clapped a new magazine in before locking the bolter to her thigh and standing straight to rip the razorflail free and lash at the ground. “FOR THE EMPEROR!”

“ _AVE IMPERATOR!_ ” I barreled forward with wrath on my lips, the whole of my unnatural body flexing to heft the eviscerator high above my head.

Grafted, vat-grown sinews implanted in me by my now-dead Haemonculous strained to their full extent for, perhaps, the first time. Like any Wych who carries the rank of Succubus, my body is a masterpiece of Drukhari flesh-artistry; my skin is durable as hide and soft as velvet while my bones are lightweight but reinforced with wraithbone veins strong enough to bear ten times their normal load. The finest musculature grown in the bodies of hideous grotesques who existed solely for the purpose of providing the most efficient muscle tissue long ago replaced better than ninety percent of my natural muscle.

Stimulant glands fire, flooding my bloodstream with a cocktail that washed my world in red as I leapt and spun, pulling the trigger on the eviscerator and setting it screaming as I tore through a half dozen Orks on landing, spilling them across the ground like offal-filled puppets.

There was no grace to the eviscerator. There was nothing but raw and potent hatred for the unclean, and its sharp teeth bit and chewed with brutal efficiency as I spun and danced among the Greenskin hordes. In a sense, there was a pleasure to melding the fighting arts of the Wych Cults with the brute might of the eviscerator. To fight using a razorflail or a hydra gauntlet, or even the traditional long knives of the lesser Wyches, was akin to dancing with the spirit of death herself.

This, on the other hand, was more like attempting to waltz with an Astartes: oddly graceful once I took my partner’s weight and long stride into account.

Of course, the eviscerator wasn’t really my partner. I only have one true partner in this dance and she strode between my frenetic swings with unerring confidence, lashing and biting with the razorflail with contemptuous ease.

My feet touched the ground to Alessa’s left and I cut wide, ripping bowel and spine from three Orks that were charging her down just as she put her back to me to lash out twice with the flail and split a pair of Orks to her right from shoulder to groin. Alessa was the focal point of my dance. The pillar around which I spiraled. Her presence was both the focus of my restraint and the impetus for my fervor, and every swing of my weapon drew lines of worship around her in graceful arcs of arterial spray. 

How long has it been since I fought like this? Since I laughed like this? How long was I numb and stumbling through life, thinking myself elegant as I fell deeper and deeper into the gray static of nothingness? 

So many millennia passed me by and I never felt them, succumbed as I had to the hedonistic despair of a race of dying immortals. 

The chain teeth of my blade sawed and chewed through another Ork, then the one behind it, spitting bone and gristle as I laughed through a haze of chemical rage while my Alessa—my heart and breath—sang, her voice melodious even over the vox as she raised a hymn to the God-Emperor while lashing apart Ork after Ork.

But the weight of numbers was beginning to tell. There was less and less even ground to tread. The Orks were choking our skill and talent with their own corpses, making the street slick with ichor and dense with dead flesh that they piled on moment after moment.

“How much longer?!” I snarled as a swung of my blade and tore the head from a larger Ork, sending the ragged, gory missile sailing over the onrushing hordes. “We cannot hold this forever, my love!”

“Trust our sisters!” Alessa roared. “They will not fail us, ‘Rae!”

Alessa trusted them as she trusted the Emperor, and there was a bitter edge in my heart that knew that I did not share that same faith. Not in them at least. Not yet. The Emperor protects, but His servants were flawed and weak. I had seen far too much of the weakness of mankind, and the trials with Danika had not left with me a great swell of hope.

“They will leave us to die!” I barked as I darted forward and ripped the eviscerator through a pair of Orks. “You know this!”

“Our lives are the God-Emperor’s to spend, trust Him, Isarae!” Alessa bellowed. “Trust _me!_ ”

The hordes thinned briefly; not in weakness but in the manner of a gladiatrix stepping back to breathe before redoubling her attack. I took the reprieve all the same, retreating several steps before coming to a stop against Alessa’s back. The power core of her armour thrummed hot against the exposed, raw skin of my back as I strained for breath. My skin was flushed and my hands raw from swinging the mighty eviscerator back and forth for what felt like hours but was, I think, less than ten minutes.

“This is a good death, my love,” Alessa said quietly, and I could hear the smile on her face. “If death is indeed our fate.”

“You still have faith?” I asked softly, turning to look over my shoulder at her, but Alessa shook her head.

“Always.”

“Even if we die?” I asked.

“Especially then.”

I blew out a breath and laughed bitterly.

// _RAIN FIRE UPON THEM, SISTERS!_ //

The vox snapped and crackled as another voice split through the command line, and on instinct, I fell to the ground even as the Greenskins renewed their charge. Alessa dropped to a knee a heartbeat behind me, and just beyond that came the boom and bay of the Retributors’ heavy bolters vomiting their sanctified ammunition straight down the killing zone of the street.

Hundreds of Orks fell in a handful of seconds, followed by hundreds more. Their bodies were exploding into ruin as fully automatic boltfire tore through swathes at a time. The streets were ripped apart like soft cheese and the holes filled with ichor and gobbets of meat as the fury-blind Orks sprinted headlong into the focused and disciplined firing pattern of forty heavy bolters.

And then it was silent.

The deafening clangor vanished as quickly as it appeared, and I stood on legs shaky with adrenaline, levering myself up by the weight of my chainblade as I gave Alessa a hand up for herself.

// _Sisters… are you still with us?_ //

I glanced around us. Where there had been a small legion Orks, there was now only an abattoir of foul green flesh and noisome gore.

Shame sat ill with me, but it was there all the same. In those last few seconds, I had questioned if they would leave us to die for pettiness and hatred.

“We are,” Alessa replied over the broadband as she settled onto her feet. “The aim and timing of your wrath was most excellent, Sister Superior.”

// _The Emperor Protects._ //

Alessa turned to me, and I could feel her satisfied grin under her helm.

“I… stand corrected.” Admitting fault does not come easily to me, even now, but fair was fair. “My faith faltered, it shall not do so ag—”

The bray of dozens of small jet engines drowned out my next words, and the air shook with the guttural roar of _WAAAGH_ as Orks strapped to crude rockets like jump packs soared overhead towards the line of the Retributors, and I felt as much as saw Alessa go rigid.

“THREATS FROM THE SKY, SISTERS!” She screamed over the vox even as she raised her bolter and thumbed it to semi-auto, firing careful bursts and knocking several from the air.

The Retributors did their best to angle their cumbersome weaponry, raising it high to spray boltfire wildly into the air. It was haphazard and inaccurate though, Orks were large targets but heavy bolters simply weren’t meant to be fired like that.

“Come Alessa we must aid them!”

“Wait.”

Alessa’s armoured hand clamped down on my shoulder and dragged me back just as the whole front facade of the enclave behind us exploded outward. Careening forward through the rubble and choking rockcrete dust was an engine of such crude purpose for destruction that it could only have been made by an Ork.

It was an enormous rusted cylinder of scrap metal and bolted plates better than twice the size of an Astartes, and it waddled forward in an ungainly, controlled fall. It’s left arm was a wildly swinging set of pincers like enormous shears, and where its right arm would be, an enormous flamer was mounted with a nozzle wide enough to send an entire squad screaming to their deaths.

“Is that—?” Alessa began numbly, just as I screamed a warning of my own.

“ _KILLA KAN!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	40. Anvil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessa crushes a Kan.

This situation isn’t what I’d call ideal.

Unfortunately, it’s what I’ve got.

“Don’t let it pass!” I roared as I whirled on the Kan and took aim with my bolter, squeezing off several shots at the massive, twisted machine bearing down on us before diving to the side.

The bolt shells struck home but had no more effect on the juggernaut than an underhive shiv on Astartes warplate. 

“We have no weapons for this beast!” Isarae snarled over the vox.

“It doesn’t matter!” I shouted back as I rolled to my knees and stood. “If that thing reaches our sisters it will bathe them in promethium and kill them all.”

The Kan brutalised the stone at its feet as its blind charge out of the enclave came to a deafening halt, its lopsided weight pitching it forward. Before it could fall face-first onto the street, though, the Kan’s occupant and operator launched its claw out, driving the appendage hard into the rockcrete street.

In a motion that spoke of a great deal of practice at this exact maneuver, the Killa Kan’s arm twisted and rotated in the joint, levering the main body back up onto its feet as it came to a waddling halt to get its bearings.

“I can breach its armour if I get close enough,” Isarae hissed over the vox. “But it will take time.”

“Time we don’t have,” I replied sharply.

The moment either of us stopped in one place for more than a moment, that incongruously quick claw would see us split in half. Sacred and blessed my armour may be, but I have no doubt those shears would sever me at the waist without a hint of resistance.

“Do you have a better plan?!”

Before I could answer, the Kan found its direction and began to tilt forward to begin another of its charges straight toward the line of cover where my sister Retributors were fighting for their lives against the aerial shock troops the Orks had landed in their midst. They had their chainblades and bolt pistols, they could fight those brutes off, but the moment the Kan made contact they would be slain to a woman.

“Oh no you don’t!” I snarled as I dug in my heels and snapped the razorflail out to wrap around the Kan’s left leg before pulling it taut.

The Kan’s hydraulics fired and instantly every joint in my armour screamed as I was dragged forward. My armoured feet dug furrows into the ground while steam hissed from my elbows and shoulder rotators as they attempted to do the equivalent of stopping a moving tank by main force.

I probably should have thought this out better, but I didn’t and for better or worse, the Kan stumbled, its momentum seized and driven off course as it whirled around and— 

The next thing I was aware of was being on my back somewhere a great deal further from where I’d just been standing. Pain blossomed in my chest and head as Isarae skidded to a halt beside me, grabbed at the seals of my helm, and tore it off. I hadn’t even been aware that I hadn’t been able to breathe up until that point, and I gasped for air, spitting up blood as Isarae threw the helm to the side.

“Alessa you damned fool!” Isarae hissed. “What were you thinking?”

“I… I stopped it,” I replied weakly before coughing. My chest ached _abominably_. “What happened?”

“It swung around and caught you full in the chest and face with the back of its claw is what happened,” Isarae said gruffly as she got an arm under me and pulled me up. 

I caught a glimpse of the Kan rotating around and doing an odd little dance as it attempted to grab at the razorflail which was wrapped around its leg and had, apparently, managed to get caught in the main hydraulic pump of the leg, effectively hobbling it for the time being.

“No more charging away at least,” Isarae said as she followed my gaze towards it.

“But it can still limp.” I gestured to its ungainly shuffle, it was covering ground fairly well considering it had to drag one of its legs, but the sheer length of its stride was making up for it.

“We need a better plan,” Isarae said, shaking her head. “Have we any breaching charges? Or anti-armour grenades?” 

“Only frags,” I replied. Now I was dearly wishing I had requisitioned some Krak grenades from the armoury.

Isarae swore quietly in sibilant Druchi.

“What I would not give for a brace of haywires or a darklight cannon,” Isarae grumbled.

The Kan, clearly having given up on attempting to clear its own hydraulics with its claw, settled its narrow, glass-pane gaze on us again, and issued a grinding mechanical roar before barreling forward, limping and dragging its feet with alarming speed.

“ _Move, Alessa!_ ”

Isarae pushed me away as she hefted her eviscerator and bolted for cover in the opposite direction. I put a hand over my cracked chest plate and tried to ignore the explosions of pain in my chest as I ran in the opposite direction just as a sound like a titan taking a deep, full breath drew in and was followed immediately by a cataclysmic roar. The enormous mounted flamer at the Killa Kan’s shoulder spoke and washed a whole section of street before in a bath of crude promethium.

The stink was otherworldly, and the smoke stuck in my throat and coated my tongue as I stumbled in the thick cloying smoke. At least I could still find my way. My soulsense pierced the thick smoke, showing me the crude, bestial soul of the Killa Kan’s brutal pilot as it twisted and flailed in the smoke. 

Coughing, hacking, and spitting to clear my throat, I ducked low and scrambled beneath the machine’s wild swings, keeping my head down and moving away from the burning pool at the Kan’s feet and towards the caged-star soul of Isarae who was sheltering behind a fallen column.

“Alessa!” Isarae wrapped her arms around me and pulled me behind the column with her and pressed her forehead to mine. “I had feared you swallowed by fire.”

“Had I been, I have no doubt you’d have felt it as keenly, my love,” I replied with a chuckle that turned into another wracking set of coughs.

“This is madness,” Isarae said. “We need heavy armour support or something to pierce its shell!”

“The eviscerator can do it,” I replied. “The machine spirit within knows the same fury as all Repentia, and while it is a poor cousin to the ones animating the noble power swords of my order, its energy can still shred through the Kan.”

“Except I would practically have to be standing upon it,” Isarae replied blithely. “That would be hazardous, to say the least.”

“I’m aware,” I shot back, frowning.

At this point, I would trade my left arm for a melta but we were granted what tools we had. The God-Emperor had graced us with strength and our sacred wargear and had we needed more He would have provided it. Now I had only to determine precisely _what_ in the Golden Throne I was supposed to do with my provisions that would save myself, my sisters, and the love of my life from re-enacting some of the more grotesque scenes from _A Pyre For Witches._

I never liked that play if I’m being honest. Too much screaming.

“You said you have frags, Alessa?” Isarae asked.

Her aura had a strangely flat affect to it that I didn’t like. The odd grayness on the edges gave me an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach as I put a hand on my belt where a cluster of fragmentation grenades were locked.

“I did,” I replied cautiously. “Why?”

“Because now _I_ have a plan.”

We had little time and less hope so I listened to Isarae’s plan, such as it was. It involved more faith than I expected, more luck than I liked, as well as a generous helping of idiocy on the part of our foe, but at least that much was reliable.

“This is mad.”

Isarae chuckled over the vox as we broke from cover, sprinting in opposite directions. Isarae bolted first, drawing the ire of the Killa Kan who immediately swung about to attempt to draw a bead with its flamer.

Before it could resolve a target on Isarae’s darting form, I broke from behind the puller, screaming and firing my bolter at its exposed back while I ran towards one of the largest piles of Orkish dead. 

The flamer’s fuel tank was arguably the Kan’s weakest point, but even an Ork is not fool enough to leave such a spot unarmoured. Thick plates of crude metal had been bolted to the cumbersome supply, making the armour at its back far thicker than even its durable front.

Still, it noticed me.

Bolter shells struck and detonated against the fuel tanks, and the Kan’s pilot rotated about, instinctively shielding the explosive promethium canisters with the bulk of its body as it snapped at me with its claw. I was well away from it though and still running, and with a guttural, static-shredded warcry the Kan’s pilot pitched forward, hobbling drunkenly and dragging its leg as it gnashed its claw several more times, once again indulging in the very Orkish instinct to disregard firearm and range for the sake of its more visceral close combat weaponry.

It would not keep at that for long, though. The moment the pilot noticed I was beyond its range, it settled back to bring the nozzle of its flamer about.

Isarae’s plan was sound but that did not mean I was going to enjoy this.

I dove for the massive pile of rancid corpses and got behind it, half burying myself in a slaughterhouse’s worth of dead Greenskin just as the flamer belched out a burning stream of crude promethium with a throaty roar.

The stink was indescribable.

It coated my skin and my tongue and the inside of my throat no matter how I clenched my mouth shut. The fumes burned at my eyes prompting a blinding wash of tears as I fought off the urge to be violently sick.

Before I could lose my mind from the sheer sensory overload, though, the bellow of the flamer cut off with a grinding, choking rattle, then went blessedly silent. 

That static-washed Ork voice was cursing with a colorful series of invectives mostly involving threats of anatomically improbable violence, and with a grim, wrenching shudder I peeled myself out of the cooked pile of Ork to scramble up the fleshy escarpment and vaulted over it towards the Kan which was jerked back and off-balance by Isarae who had taken a hold of the razorflail’s grip to jerk it backward with all of her deceptive might.

It gave me a moment. Just a moment. I sprinted for the Kan as Isarae pulled the flail free, releasing the hydraulics of the leg which sent the Kan stumbling violently as its arrested motion doubled back on it.

“NOW!” I shouted.

In a single, smooth motion, Isarae snapped the razorflail back to its blade form, hurled it to me, then swung the enormous eviscerator before vaulting over the whole of the Killa Kan in a breathtaking display of inhuman acrobatics, riding her own weapon’s momentum, and landed atop the Kan’s fuel tank.

It’s back may have been armoured but Isarae and I were willing to bet that the very top of the tank probably wasn’t.

The eviscerator roared as Isarae thumbed it to full power and drove it down. Sparks spat and flew as she sawed open the supply. Only Isarae could have the dexterity and control to slice it open just enough not to ignite the fuel within, and if she were off by even a finger's breadth she would die in a fiery conflagration.

But I knew my Isarae better than that.

Like everything else she did, she would do this _perfectly._

The only sticking point, of course, was the claw, and the moment the Kan’s pilot found its balance it swung the snapping blades at Isarae. She didn’t move or even flinch. This was all part of the plan.

I lunged forward, snapping the flail to its full length and wrapping it around the crude wrist joint that joined the blades to the arm, then dug in my heels for a second time, and pulled.

Joints in both my armour and inside what was certainly the poorly oiled limb of the Kan screamed in protest as the world exploded into light around me. Everything was illuminated by what Isarae had called soulsfire, as I seized on the deadly limb and stopped it less than a meter from Isarae, and it took me a moment to realise that the source of the light could only be myself.

Even as I struggled and strained, shouting imprecations mingled with oaths to the God-Emperor, I could only wonder what I must look like in that instance.

The Kan jerked and spasmed to reassert its footing, but by the time it had shifted to get leverage on me, Isarae had already done her work. She vaulted off the fuel tanks, taking a standing jumping in reverse, away from the Kan and towards me with her robes and hair flapping in the wind—and I imagined I could even perceive their crimson colour again for a moment—while in her wake, the cluster of grenades I’d passed her behind the cover of the fallen pillar dropped into the rent she’d opened on the promethium tanks with an oddly muted ‘ _bloop_ ’.

I drew my thumb over the mesh hilt of the flail, snapping it back as I bolted away from the Kan as fast as my power armoured legs could carry me. The moment I heart the hiss and crack of the links locking together again I lashed out with the flail once more, praying to the Golden Throne that what skill Isarae had drilled into me was enough that I wasn’t about the murder she who I love best in the galaxy by accident.

Then again, if this didn’t work she would be dead anyway.

I really wish I’d had time to express how much I hated this plan when Isarae had explained it but at the time I’d had no better ideas that stand an equal or higher chance of either seeing us both dead, or sacrificing my sister Retributors.

Between the two of us, this was the only way these rolls could have fallen. Only Isarae had the acrobatic talent to ascend the Kan to cut it open and drop the grenades, which meant she was relying on me to snatch her out of the blast radius while running for cover myself, which I could only do because I had eyes in the back of my head.

Or as good as.

Keeping one foot in front of the other, I forced my awareness to ratchet away from the space in front of me and lock onto Isarae. It was a strange and vertiginous feeling, and one that made my stomach to flips even as I twisted and flicked my wrist, guiding the lethal Druchi weapon around until it wrapped around Isarae’s middle and to my immense relief I’d managed it so only the flats of the blades touched her.

Jerking and dragging her with me, I only made a few more steps before the grenades detonated with a dull thud that preceded a truly apocalyptic detonation as the fuel lines in the Killa Kan ignited and turned the Ork’s technological abomination into an improvised explosive.

With the last of my strength I hauled Isarae forward and threw her past me, and through the rush of air and flame I heard her scream my name just before the blast wave caught me, lifted me from my feet, and sent me hurtling straight forward towards what certainly looked a lot like a wa—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	41. Rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae practices chiropracty

This has begun happening far too often for me to be comfortable with it.

“Alessa!” 

I scrabbled to my feet in the wake of the Killa Kan’s explosive death. My body sang with agony now that the adrenal high of glanded painkillers and stimms had started to ebb. The sounds of war were rife around me. From behind us, the bark of bolter and growl of chainsword was backed by the chaotic hoots of Orks as they battled the Retributors. I had no doubt they would be slain in short order, though. There hadn’t been anything like enough of them—for once—to outweigh the heavy weapon teams. They had been counting on the armoured support from their crude dreadnought, and now they were outnumbered and outgunned.

Not that that seemed to put a damper on their enthusiasm.

I dropped to my knees in front of the mass of rubble where Alessandra had struck the wall, carried on the breath of the Kan’s detonation. My heart was racing as I gripped chunks of stonework and masonry and threw them aside, searching for any glint of black ceramite or lavender etchings.

“God-Emperor, protect your daughter and shield her from the hand of death for her life and death are yours.” 

I muttered the prayer aloud as I tore stone after stone away until a curve of dark armour revealed itself. I whispered a prayer of thanks to the Emperor as I started to move more carefully around her, pulling at the stones I knew wouldn’t cause another rockfall from the strewn rubble until she was free enough for me to get an arm under her and slowly drew her out from under the collapsed facade.

“Alessa,” I spoke softly as I brushed some of the matted hair, grit, and blood from her face. 

She was unconscious and covered in grime, and I wasn’t entirely certain her powered armour worked properly anymore. It had, thankfully, absorbed most of the impact, but there were cracks and rents across the arms, legs, and torso. Her gorget was smashed and parts of it were hanging loose, and the powerpack at her back was making an unsettling humming noise.

“WAAAGH!”

“Do these wretched creatures never rest?!” I snarled as I gripped the Eviscerator and thumbed the power supply on.

The raw, glutinous roar came from deep within the temple and was followed moments later by the thunder of boots striking the ground as they followed the siren call of battle. I tuned my ears sharply to the sound of the impacts. The Orks have no sense of grace and less that of stealth, save for the rarest breeds of them, and I could pick out each individual footfall with ease.

“Three… no… seven, and more behind.” I counted them out, reading the beats of their boots as the shock of their footfalls traveled up their bodies and brought with it the animal grunt of their breathing and the clank of their armour.

Too much armour.

Opening my eyes, I took in a deep breath. This would not be as easy as the others. Orks were beneath my skill… normal Orks, that is, but like most creatures, they had their own crude hierarchies. Of course, there are the different breeds and subbreeds; the wretched Gretchin—as often cannon fodder as they were rations—and the more common ‘Boyz’ in their barbarous tongue, and above those are the Nobs and the Bosses.

But there are distinctions that most, including many of my own kind, ever bother to make.

The gear an Ork wears often marks its standing among its tribe, and what many fail to realise until the brief moments just before their brutal demise is that rank is equal to power among the Greenskin, and so the best equipped and highest-ranked are not only stronger and tougher, but smarter, more cunning, and more skilled. They are Orks who have survived hundreds of their internecine feuds, making them the equivalent of seasoned veterans, and were equipped accordingly.

The so-called Ardboyz.

Three of the brutes burst from the cloud of debris, with the one in the lead carrying what could only be the side-panel door of an Imperial Chimera as a shield, defaced and reinforced as it was. The others bore similar equipment; their bodies covered in bolted and riveted plates of steel and ceramite and carrying heavy, hacking cleavers alongside enormous shields fashioned from whatever they’d found that seemed sturdy enough to absorb a hail of boltfire.

“WAA—” Before the Ork could build up his momentum, I charged, thumbing my blade to full power and thrusting hammering it forward in a killing thrust.

The disruptor field of the Eviscerator, combined with its massive, chewing teeth, split through the shield and followed with a spitting spray of gore as it sheared through the arm behind it. I continued my thrust, screaming my own wordless roar over their truncated cry as I skewered the Ork through the chest and drove him to the ground. 

It wasn’t dead but it didn’t matter. I dug in the blade and levered myself up as the other two Ardboyz ran gleefully past their downed companion to get to me. In an instant, I was over their heads. I left my blade chewing away in the chest of the downed Ork as I leapt from the handle and landed on the rearmost of the pair, gripped his too-small helmet tight, flexed, and grinned viciously as I wrenched his skull to the side.

The Ork’s thick neck and spine snapped with a sound like splintering heartwood.

My unclean, grafted muscle burned with exertion—screaming that I was reaching my limit—as the last Ork turned to me in confusion. More were coming, but I had a few moments. Moments enough that, if I were quick and quiet, I could end this and move Alessa. These three were no vanguard, as I feared. They were simply closer than the others and ran ahead.

“WAAAGH!”

“Oh shut up!” I snarled as I dove in at it.

The enormous cleaver sailed past me as I stepped inside the Ardboyz wide reach, kipped up its armour, and drove two fingers into its right eye. The orb popped spilling hideous, noisome ichor, and the Ork bellowed as I wrenched my hand out of its ruined socket, swung around its head using its own helmet as a maypole as it tried to grab at me half-blinded, then came back around to bury another two fingers into its other eye.

I dropped to its feet and rolled away as the Ardboy flailed, blind and furious, swept up the cleaver from the paralysed Ork at my feet, and spiraled around the blind Ork to split the soft joints at the backs of its knees in a wide, ragged cut, toppling the beast to the ground on its stomach.

Wasting no time, I leapt onto its back and drove the blade straight down into the crease between helmet and chestplate, severing its head.

“Time to go,” I muttered as I turned, retrieved my Eviscerator, and got under Alessa again. 

Another cry of ‘WAAAGH’ reached my ears and I cursed as another brace of the enormous Ardboyz rounded the corner from inside the temple and started sprinting towards us, shields up and cleavers up.

Before I could drop Alessa and commit myself to a fight I was steadily growing uncertain I could win, the sound of heavy bolters opened up behind me as a rain of fire shredded across the street and the ruined facade of the enclave. Their armour took dozens of direct shots, but hundreds more followed, driving the Orks back as the Retributors ended the last of their airborne assailants and began advancing forward slowly, gripping their heavy weapons as they came on like the inevitable hammer of wrath.

Under their expert lanes of fire, I dragged Alessa away from the brawl, down the street, and behind their lines where I dropped her and collapsed beside her, breathing hard.

“Are you well… sister?” One of the Retributors asked, her voice hanging awkwardly on the final word.

“I… I am,” I replied raggedly.

In truth, I wasn’t. I’d never fought like this without the veil of the thirst reinforcing me. I hadn’t realised how much of my endless vitality in combat came from reaping the fear, terror, and pain that I inflicted and transforming it into my strength. I was relying entirely on my physical capabilities now which, while not inconsiderable, were no longer endless.

A decade ago, I could have fought until days end but no longer. My Druchi Thirst was gone, with it went the unholy fortitude it gave me. My limbs were shaking, my vision was beginning to take on a subtle, gray pallor that I was wary of.

“Sister Kana!” The Retributor called another of the Commandery to our side.

The one who answered the call was shorter and slighter than the rest, and it took me a moment to realise it was because the pattern of armour she wore was a slimmed-down, lighter-weight variant. She lacked a helm as well, instead wearing a long, veil of a habit from which pale blonde hair falls askew from where it would normally be kept tidy behind the crown’s headband.

Unlike the others, her skin was fair, and she looked younger than the rest. Perhaps even as young as the others, even given her tired blue eyes.

Her armaments didn’t match any of the other sisters either.

Where the rest of them carried their immense weapons of war, she carried only a bolt pistol at her hip and on her left vambrace was a telescoping saw that looked to have seen recent use against the Greenskins that had attacked from the sky. Her right vambrace carried a curious series of mechanisms that looked vaguely medical.

“Move, if you please,” she said in a clipped tone as she dropped down beside Alessa and began pulling damaged portions of armour away with expert hands.

I shifted away, my eyes narrowed on her work. As much as it rankled to have Alessa handled in such a way, I was no healer. If she was gravely injured I would only do her harm by getting in the woman’s way.

“Is she alright?” I asked cautiously as the woman—Sister Kana—began manipulating something on her arm.

She shot me a withering look that actually put me back a step.

“Permit me to do my duty to the Emperor and we shall find out,” she said waspishly. “The machine spirit of this armour is critically wounded, and it can only haltingly communicate Mistress Alessa’s biometrics to me, so be still, or I shall judge thee in need of amputation.”

As painful as it is, I wait. I plant my blade in the ground and kneel as the song of battle echoes around us. The Retributors are doing an excellent job of keeping the Orks pinned in the enclave while, at the same time, drawing more and more of them to the front, and I can only pray that the Astartes and the detachment of sisters who were striking from above are having more fortune than we are at their objective.

Forced to face the fact that I can do nothing physical for Alessa, I take a breath and try to force some of the exhaustion and pain to the side as I release my white-knuckled grip on my blade and fold my hands over my chest in the shape of the Aquila.

“God-Emperor grant strength to this unsteady heart,” I prayed softly. “Fill me with thy will and might that I may do thy will. Bless the suffering of this body, for blessed is _thy suffering_. Bless the blood spilled, for it is spilled for thee. Bless the lives that were lost, for their deaths are thine, Lord.” 

I let out a shuddering breath and bow my head deeper, my limbs shaking as I tried to ignore the fear in my heart that Alessa might be worse off than I hoped. So I turn my mind to another and begin to pray again.

“Hail Arabella, full of grace, mighty are the miracles of thy faith.” The words came easily, for they were some of my favorite. “Turn thy gaze to this fallen sister, that thy miracles might heal her body and soothe her soul—”

“—that her life may be once again His to spend, and her will be redoubled against the foes of Man.”

The voice of Sister Kana joined mine at the final verse, and I looked up to see her staring at me with some confusion.

“Is she—?”

“Mistress Alessa will live,” she announced. “Though her wounds are dire, they are not mortal. What of you?”

“I will endure,” I replied as a wave of relief washed over me. “What news of the forward strike team?”

Kana shook her head.

“No contact yet. They’re of vox silence til the tower is reclaimed.”

“If they do not hurry it will be past the point of consequence!” The Retributor who had called Kana over griped as she took several steps back and lowered her weapon, thumbing a tab near the stock and ejecting a spent magazine.

Before she could call for aid, I moved behind her to retrieve one of her caches of ammo, pulled it free, and knelt by her weapon to fit it into the slot with a heavy, satisfying click. The machine gave a quiet thrum as it read the full magazine that had just been fed into it, I looked up in time to see the Retributor give a silent nod of thanks.

“Our ammo stores are not infinite.” She said without prompting. “With the way these Orks pour from the depths of the temple, they will be on their last magazines within the hour, and the moment our guns go hungry it will be our doom.”

“But what a doom it will be,” I replied as I stood by her.

The Retributor let out a snort that sounded almost like a laugh before she turned to Kana. 

“Well at least she _sounds_ like a proper Repentia,” she said before turning back to face me. “I am Sister Shior, Sister Superior to the Sowers.”

“Sowers?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Aye!” Another Sister nearer the battle line called as she steadied her stance. “See me plant another row of seeds!”

She took aim at another surge of Orks, braced herself, and opened fire, bracketing the group with deadly bolter fire. The mass reactive rounds ripped through the Greenskin charge, blunting it in time for the other Sowers to turn their muzzles to the group and open up their own rain of fire.

“See?” Islas said blithely. “Sowers.”

“So it would seem,” I replied. “If I may, you seem less concerned over my nature than the others of Alessa’s sisterhood.”

Shior grew silent, and the echoes of bolter rounds detonating sang deafening in the gap before she finally shrugged, a curious expression to make in power armour.

“My Retributors have always been close to the Repentia,” she replied quietly. “Mistress Juri and I were especially so, and her death stole something from me. I swore to protect the next Repentia, it’s why I volunteered for this, for if the God-Emperor wills my oath to you, then it is as He demands.”

“I still don’t like the ears,” Kana grumbled as she stood. “But she knows her litanies, at least.”

“Don’t mind Sister Kana,” Shior remarked as she hefted her weapon and turned back to the battlefield, “she’s unpleasant to everyone. But understand, Sister Isarae, that while you are not loved among my squads, we saw your battle against the Killa Kan that would have slaughtered us had it reached our line, so you have a measure of our respect at least. So long as you know your duty, we have no quarrel.”

“My duty is to Alessa and to the God-Emperor,” I said stiffly.

“As is true of us all,” Shior replied. “Now see to your Mistress, we’ll keep them pinned til our last bolter shell.”

Nodding, I knelt by Alessa and brushed my fingers over her face. The bruises were showing from our battle against the Kan, but Kana had done her work well.

“May I move her head?” I asked, looking up at the medic.

Sister Kana narrowed her eyes at me but nodded.

“Thank you.”

I moved carefully beside Alessa, cradled her head in my hands, then moved her gently until she was resting on my lap. It was a kinder place to awaken than the cold ground. Part of me ached to be back at the forefront of the battle, but Sister Shior was right: my duty was to the God-Emperor and to my Mistress Repentia.

To my Alessa.

So I would wait until she awoke. Knowing her, it would not be long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	42. Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessandra sees to the heart of the matter.

This had begun happening far too often for me to be comfortable with it.

_Visions assailed me in the torment of my unconscious mind. Visions of a burning eagle crowned with flame bearing down upon me like a descending blade. Visions of death and dire import. This was the Emperor reaching out to me. I knew it in the depths of my soul. He was speaking to me. Warning me._

_But of what?_

_“Please, Father!” I howled from the eye of a maelstrom of light that bit and ripped at the edges of my soul. “I don’t understand!”_

_A voice, distant and impossibly deep spoke in a voice like the death throes of a main-sequence star, and it rocked the foundations of my fraying awareness._

_“I see the Torch, Father!” I cried as I fell to my knees, the pain like a chainblade splitting through my skull. “I am here! What more am I meant to do?!”_

_More thunder and supernova rocked me as the maelstrom became painfully blinding, and with it was carried more visions. I saw a beating heart, malignant and alien, beating Torch, sickening its light and darkening the city. The heartbeat was vile and wet, and it grew quicker with each passing moment until it was like the drums of an entire Ork WAAAGH were hammering away at the inside of my head!_

_“FATHER!” I wept, the pain growing too much. “Please…!”_

_I was curled on the ground, bile filling my throat and fever wracking me as thunder spoke words of pain into me and demanded something I could not even conceive of._

_The heart. The heartbeat. The temple and the torch. Faster and faster and faster and… til it was fit to burst._

_The maelstrom was gone as suddenly as it had appeared and with it came soothing shadows. The lack of agony was like ecstasy in and of itself, and I wept harder as the voice took on a deeper and yet somehow softer resonance._

_“Fit to burst.”_

_My eyes grew wide and I—_

“AH!”

I jerked upright, gasping and filling my lungs with air that smelled of fyceline and the copper stink of new death. Before I could fix my awareness on anything my vision doubled, then tripled and swung vertiginously as my gorge rose, and I flipped over onto my knees and lost what little I had in my stomach, coughing around the taste of sick.

“I don’t like having visions.” The words came out breathless and raw.

My body ached with the sympathetic pain of my nightmare visions. I had seen something… something terrible, and my mind was trying to piece it back together and having about as much luck as someone trying to recall a dream after a night involving far too much amasec. 

Belatedly, I realised that someone was holding my hair back from my face as I dry heaved at the ground, and I chuckled wanly as I did my best to sit up in my creaking and protesting armour.

Isarae was at my side, as always, the supernova of her soul illuminating the world around me in clearcut lines of gold and black, and she knelt beside me as I sat up. Taking a swathe of her robes, she carefully wiped at my mouth before holding out a flask to me.

“Drink, _Cre’yth_ ,” she said pointedly.

“How long was I out?” I asked before taking a long swig.

“Not long enough for us to run dry of ammo,” a Retributor crowed from nearby.

“Sister Superior Shior and her Sowers have been watching over us while you rested and Sister Kana—” Isarae gestured and I followed her finger to the woman in the garb of a Sister Hospitaller— “tended to your injuries.”

“You have my deepest thanks, Sister,” I said, bowing my head as deeply as my damaged armour permitted.

I’d known that the squad of Retributors being sent with us were veterans, but they were making a spectacular showing of themselves in my opinion. The front of the facade was littered with the Orkish dead who seemed to have only very recently decided that charging out the front door and into the jaws of two dozen heavy bolters was not a winning strategy.

But they had certainly given it the old schola try.

“We need to get into the Temple,” I said, trying to stand, and only managing to make it about half of the way before staggering, and Isarae was forced to step in to help me up.

“My Sowers don’t have the ammunition for a frontal assault,” Sister Shior said as she lowered the glowing muzzle of her heavy bolter. “Besides, orders are to remain at this point and draw as many of them to us, unless you’ve forgotten.”

“I’m aware, but we have to go in anyway!” I snapped. “The Temple is a trap!”

The words had barely left my lips before I knew without a doubt they were true. Whatever it was I had seen in the shadows of my mind before I’d woken up had been a warning from Him On Earth. The question of my worthiness for that vision notwithstanding, I couldn’t simply let that pass.

“Aren’t we here on _account_ of your visions?” Sister Kana asked sharply, narrowing her eyes at me. “And now you’re claiming it’s a trap?”

“Alessa only saw that the Temple was intact,” Isarae said, stepping between us. “It was the Canonesses whom decided to attempt to reclaim it without a proper reconnaissance!”

That wasn’t _exactly_ true, but I didn’t bother pointing it out. We weren’t reclaiming the temple itself at the moment, we were taking back the communications tower so we could organise that very operation. 

None of that really mattered, though, since the practical of the matter was that over three-quarters of the Priory’s remaining fighting strength was currently committed to this operation and if something happened here that mimicked the disaster that claimed the life of the Prioress then the Sororitas’ ability to sustain any kind of defense at the Priory of Gardens would become laughably negligible.

“These Orks are different,” I said, putting a hand on Isarae’s shoulder to draw her back. “Their leader is cunning and twisted like few of his kind are. If this is a trap, it may be one the Warboss set long in advance because it expected us to eventually come here! I saw…” I wracked my brain and found grim images of a twisted heart beating and beating away, “…a heart, a dark heart in the temple, and it beat faster and faster with every breath, it beat like a hammer until—”

_Until it was fit to burst._

“That could be anything!” Sister Kana said.

“Anything, yes…” I said hollowly, but my gut instinct told me it was something very specific. Something that Orks had a great love of. “Or it could be a bomb.”

Kana’s face went pale, and Shior looked up sharply at me. Isarae did nothing, she remained as dutiful and sure as ever beside me, with her arms crossed and her noble features set in an expression of grim determination.

“That’s…” Sister Kana started weakly but trailed off.

“Mistress Alessandra is right,” Shior said quietly, putting a hand on Kana’s pauldron. “We lost too many to the ambush in the plaza because we expected the Orks to fight like Orks. I lost my Prioress and my lover both on that dark day, I will not lose more of my sisters to another dishonorable blow if it is in my hands to stop it.”

Turning to me, Shior lowered her bolter to rest, put two fingers to the side of her helmet, and her voice crackled over the command net.

// _Retributors, conserve ammunition and form up on me. Burst-fire only and mind your consumption, we’re breaching the temple._ //

To the credit of her squads, not one of them questioned the decision. Each Retributor, at least those I could see, deftly swapped firing modes and began more sporadic fire as they began picking their targets while smoothly moving back towards their commander.

“Alessa, I shall follow you to the depths of the warp and back,” Isarae began gently, “but as the scripture says: look to your wargear, dearest.”

I grimaced as I looked down at myself. The chapel armour had held up remarkably well, all things considered, but there was no denying the catastrophic damage the poor spirit had suffered.

“We have no choice, my love,” I replied, looking back at her. “I cannot claim visions only to remain behind, and there’s no telling if I’ll recieve another that may be important. Damaged armour or no, I must continue with the advance. I shall do my utmost to not burden you or my sisters.”

Happy words, but such platitudes did not seal the rents in my armour, nor did it solve the problem that I had, at best, seventy per cent of my full range of motion thanks to the multiple strained joints and shattered seals. Fighting using the razorflail was going to be difficult in this state but with Isarae’s and Kana’s help and I managed to remove most of the damage fragments.

By the time we finished the armour provided significantly less protection but at I was at least confident that it wouldn’t simply seize up at a crucial moment, and in the heat of battle that would spell my death far more certainly than anything else.

Beyond us, the Retributors had formed up with gratifying efficiency and within moments of that, we were advancing on the heels of a concentrated lane of fire. Enough of the Greenskin’s charges had been blunted that even those suicidal beasts had been left wary of our fury, but I had no illusions.

Orks had a mean, low cunning when it came to battle that only a fool would discount, but they were still _Orks_ and that meant that sooner or later their belligerent nature would overcome their caution and we’d be pitched into battle again.

As it was, we breached the enclave with only token resistance. None of the Orks in the area seemed particularly organised and my guess was that most of the tribal leaders that would have rallied them had already been cut down in. Orks don’t tend to ‘lead from the back’ as it were, which is handy when it comes to cutting the head from the serpent, but problematic as those Orks do tend to be the most dangerous.

“This is poor territory for a Retributor,” Shior grumbled as she maneuvered her heavy bolter around her sisters. “If they close with us our weapons will mean nothing.”

The Administratum enclave was wide by the standards of a normal citizen, but for multiple squads of power armoured battle sisters toting weapons best operated at ranges exceeded hundreds of meters, it was practically claustrophobic.

“Isarae and I will do our best to blunt any attack that closes,” I replied as I did my best to ignore the aches and pains that were settling nicely into my bones.

“A cold comfort if they get past you,” Kana replied as she checked over her surgical saw for the tenth time with the distinct air of someone who didn’t intend to use it for its manufactured purpose. “This is bordering on suicide, and were it under the orders of the Canoness I would take no issue, but I mislike following dreams and visions, Mistress.”

“I am no keener on them than you, I assure you,” I said back, letting some of my weariness leak into my voice.

Would that these visions could assail another I would be happy to pass them alongg, but I could hardly complain. My life was His to command as were the lives of all mankind. If the God-Emperor saw fit to warn my sisters through me I would suffer as many of these visions as needed, for He had granted me all that I desired and more.

Without thinking, my hand slipped down to find Isarae’s and her fingers twined with mine causing a gentle flutter of my heart as I looked up at her. 

I understood why my sisters found her alien features disturbing. It’s both natural and right that humankind should find the unnatural to be unsettling. Yet, for all that I know that to be true, I can’t help but find the inhuman angles of her face and body to be oddly charming, if not outright pleasing, and the crimson cowl of the Repentia she now wears suits her more than I know how to articulate.

In truth, I could look at her for days and never grow tired of it.

A sharp jab in the small of my back pulled me out of my head and back to the present, and I shot a glare over my shoulder at the short, sullen Hospitaller behind me.

“Ogle the alien at a later date, if you please,” Kana said acidly as she withdrew her surgical saw. “We’ve other matters to attend to than your silent heresies.”

Rage swelled unbidden through my chest as I narrowed my eyes at Sister Kana. I’m not sure what it is that she saw, but her already fair face lost what little colour it had at my expression and she lost a step, stumbling awkwardly backward. Before I could say something I would regret, though, Isarae’s hand settled softly on my chin to turn my face back to her.

“Soothe your choler, Alessa,” Isarae said quietly. “We must find this dark heart.”

It took me several deep breaths, but I did, as I turned away from Kana and closed my eyes, letting my blindsense filter out into the temple. I blocked out the intermittent gunfire as my sisters cleared hall after hall of the pockets of Orkish resistance. I counted us lucky or blessed that we’d encountered no significant force up til now and hoped it was because we’d thinned them and not because they had noticed our incursion on the main voxhailer.

Then, of course, there was the indisputable fact that we were behind enemy lines, although ‘lines’ was a generous term. Our one saving grace was that Orks had only the loosest sense of organisation, especially in urban warfare. They didn’t so much have established battle lines as they did have sporadically patrolled territory. Orks clearly had no patience for remaining static and emplaced when there was looting to be had, so any kind of defensive fortifications would be haphazard at best.

Regardless, the Warboss was no fool. If the Orks manning the voxhailer had gotten a warning out in time then we would have half the WAAAGH crawling up our emergency induction ports within the hour.

So I searched. I sought the darkness of the beating heart that I knew was somewhere within the temple.

It couldn’t be too far down. An unknown number of Dragoons occupied of the catacombs beneath the Torch Imperialis, so if a bomb was set then it would have to be set somewhere that the Orks had control of. The main levels then. The higher floors and gantries would serve poorly for any kind of explosive, due to the distance from the buried Guardsman. If the Orks wanted to take as many of us with them as possible then…

“The center.” The word felt right as it came out.

“Center?” Shior’s calm voice came over the voxnet. “The main chapel?”

“I think so,” I replied. “It fits with the Orks’ crude sensibilities. If they want to plant a bomb to take out a force that’s seeking to reclaim the temple then just put a bomb in the middle of everything.”

As I spoke, I angled my awareness forward. For the first time, more than just rotating my awareness away from my eyes, I cast it forward. Isarae’s light, and the lights of my sisters, penetrated walls and barricades of the great temple which had had finally passed into. It reflected off of the very walls of the great edifice where so many prayers had been uttered and the faith of mankind had sunk into over the generations of priests, pilgrims, and layfolk who had come here to feel the grace of the God-Emperor upon them.

This was _our_ home. This was a place of _mankind._

From the highest belfries to the lowest catacombs and foundation stones, this place abhorred the green invader and raged against the corruption that had been planted in its breast. I followed the echoes of that rage and found veins of sickly green. I found hate and wickedness, and more than that…

I found a _mind._

My sensibilities rocked as I realised what it was we were walking into. I also realised why it was there were so few Orks this deep in the Temple. The Orks were situated around the edges of the Torch Imperialis. They weren’t protecting it, they were drawing us in and closing in around us to keep us here.

It _was_ a trap.

“Quickly!” I cried as my awareness flooded back into local area. “There are no Orks ahead of us but we must hurry! We have little time and far less fortune sisters!”

Shior echoed my command and a surge of gratitude welled through me as the Isarae, I, and the Retributers, along with Sister Kana pitched forward down the halls. The heavy weapons teams rested their weapons and ran, their armour groaning as they hauled the weight of their guns. 

They would endure, we all would. We had to.

The enormous double doors that guarded the main chapel were sealed and horribly defaced. My stomach turned as I beheld an Aquila whose twin heads had been sheared off, and a great, grinning Orkish face had been daubed crudely over both doors in green paint that stank to the Golden Throne. Thick plates of metal had been welded and bolted to the doors, and Shior wasted no time.

“Bring the doors down!” She commanded.

The Sowers hesitated only briefly, and I sympathised, but to their credit they obeyed, raising their heavy bolters, thumbing to automatic, and opening fire.

The hall was filled with deafening thunder as better than a dozen muzzles flashed and tores through the doors.

What lay beyond was nothing less than a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in following my original work, I urge you to visit my Patreon and check it out. I can't link it directly, but I'll give you a shot to my blog [here](https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/924151/official-patreon-announcement-plus-dead-by-midnight). I would deeply appreciate any support you can give.


	43. Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isarae comments on clockwork.

It was a struggle to accept what I was seeing.

Even by the terms of my own kind—and even ignoring my new convictions to the Imperial Creed—what I was looking at in the center of the Great Chapel was a truly sickening sight, and to turn the stomach of a wych as old and depraved as I took some effort indeed.

Effort that the Orks had spared no expense toward achieving, it seemed.

“Tell me what I am looking at,” Shior said, her voice taking on an odd, gulping cadence as she forced her gorge down.

“A horror,” Alessa replied in an equally nauseated tone. “We are looking upon the Warboss’s trap for our kind.”

Could I call what rested at the center of the ruined Chapel a machine? In a very loose and generous sense of the word, I supposed it was. Dais and pulpit had both been cleared without grace or respect, and the pews demolished and thrown to the sides, filling the space around us save for a single path towards the abomination with shattered stone and wood detritus. As for the machine itself, it was a nightmare of wires, tubes, glass, metal, and flesh.

The centerpiece of it was something like a stasis tube, albeit a crude one, much like what my homunculus used to suspend his creations and works-in-progress in. The tube was fully ten feet high, crowned in sharpened rods of metal daubed with unwholesome Orkish sigils, and seated in a hideous nest of metal tubes and wiring. Much of that wiring traveled out to eight smaller tanks surrounding the central machine, each of which held what looked like pickled human heads, and from their implants they could only be psykers, likely meant to act as amplifiers. The attached wires ran with unpleasant voltaic energy that made the air stink of rot and smoke, and as for the contents of the tube?

A noisome greenish fluid filled the central tube, and suspended inside was the ruined torso and head of a mutant Ork whose skull was split and ripped open to expose pulsing brain tissue that spasmed with warp lightning, and from its ribcage came a dull, thudding, mechanical clicking.

“How is this a trap?” Kana asked, disgust rich in her voice. “What madness is this?”

“Not madness,” I replied, stepping past them all to approach the machine. “It is not madness at all… it’s the diseased genius of the Orks, what they call ‘ _kunnin_ ’, see? Look here.”

I tapped a finger against the glass, pointing not at the Weirdboyz’ brain but at its chest which had been ripped open, likely by the hands of one of their specialised breeds; Doks or Painboyz as they’re called.

Kana, Alessa, and Shior joined me as the rest of the Sowers spread out and settled into practiced defensive positions. Kana leaned in closest, her medical curiosity only modestly overriding her absolute horror at what was in front of her.

“Is that a timer?” Kana muttered in disbelief at the source of the clicking.

“Tied to the beats of the Weirdboyz’ heart, I’d wager,” I confirmed. “What we are looking at is Warp-powered explosive capable of temporarily rending the fabric of Realspace… enough to cause an incursion I’d wager.”

Not unlike certain pieces of old Aeldari war-tech that were capable of punching holes in the Real, although this explosion would be writ much larger.

“More than that.” Shior had knelt at the base of the tube, setting her heavy bolter down beside her as she brushed coils of wiring and tubes out of the way.

“Naturally,” Alessa grumbled as she lowered herself to Shior’s side.

‘Naturally’, indeed. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised considering that these are Ork’s we’re talking about, that didn’t soften the blow of finding what looked like the munition portion of a dismantled starship torpedo buried under the main wiring systems.

“And so it gets worse,” Shior said as she pulled more wires away to expose the rest of the torpedo.

“Of course it does.”

In my long span of experience, I’ve often found that when a situation is this bad the usual path of things is to degrade, rather than improve. Contrary to popular belief, there is no such thing as being so low that the only way to go is up. Not even death is a comfortable reprieve considering what waits on the other side of the veil. 

Although, with that being said my opinions on the afterlife have brightened considerably over the past dozen or so cycles.

Shior tapped the casing of the explosive and grimaced.

“I may be able to defuse this,” she said after a moment of thought. “But truth be told, I’m less concerned about dying a fiery death like this considering what that—” she gestured to the mutant psyker Ork in the tube “—suggests I’m about to experience.”

“Aye, sister,” I replied grimly.

Whatever our faith, the fate of our immortal souls was hardly guaranteed if we perished in the heart of a warp anomaly. My faith was resolute, but I was not stupid. I knew enough about the torment of warpspace to know the jealous grip a daemon’s claws could find even on the most faithful of souls.

“So what do we do?” Kana asked. And she did so by turning to Alessa, who stiffened under her gaze. “You lead us here, Sister Alessandra, can we safely assume you have a plan?”

I bared my teeth at the Sister Hospitaller’s accusatory tone as I stepped between Alessa and the waspish medic.

“Show a modicum of respect!” I snapped. “Had it not been for Alessa we would never have known this was here!”

“And what purpose does that knowledge serve?!” To her credit, Kana didn’t back down. She simply squared her shoulders and stuck her chin out belligerently as she glared up at me. “She claims visions from the God-Emperor but walks hand-in-hand with xenobreed filth! She drives a wedge into the heart of her convent! Preaches heresy! Then leads her sisters to damnation!”

“You dare—!?”

“Isarae, that’s enough.”

Alessa’s voice was a cold balm against fevered skin, cooling my temper as she laid a creaking, armoured hand on my shoulder and drew me back.

“I know you wish to protect me, but Sister Kana is right,” Alessa continued. “I have done nothing but endanger my sisters, and you.”

“There is no danger you could summon that I would not happily face, Alessa,” I replied softly.

“That, I know as well.” Her smile was faint and a bit sad, too, I think, although I may have been imagining it. “But I have faith that the God-Emperor led me here for a reason, and that that reason was not to simply die in ignominy. If He has brought us to this place then it is with purpose… the Ork’s heart beats, and the timer is tied to the heart, yes?”

“Yes,” Shior said, standing up and looking crossly down at the bundle of explosives at her feet before turning her gaze to Alessa. “And I cannot raise the assault force on the secure channels.”

“Then they’re still on vox silence,” Alessa filled in, frowning as she turned to Kana. “Whether or not we can warn them away is immaterial right now, if we do not stop this—” she gestured flatly at the tube “—then we are condemning thousands of guardsmen to the depredations of the warp.”

Kana scoffed, fixing her acidic glower onto Alessa. I bristled at her but another gentle touch from Alessa pushed my furor into the background of my mind as she met Kana’s angry gaze with one that showed more calm consideration than I expected. I have to admit, over the month and more since I first took her hand in that plaza, Alessandra has grown by leaps and bounds. I could see in her so many qualities that I wished I could see in myself, not the least of which is her love for her sisters.

“Sister, if this abomination’s heart is the driving force of the bomb, can we not simply kill the brain?” Alessa asked, gesturing to the pulsating mass of meat extruding from the Ork psyker’s skull.

The Hospitaller opened her mouth in the beginnings of a pithy laugh, but the sound died before it made it past her lips. Slowly, her face went from derision, to consideration, and then to something I could tentatively call desperate hope.

“That… that might work,” she said slowly. “Ork bodies are robust but basic, and what study the Officio Medicae have put into them suggest multiple redundancies in their biology, so that…”

She trailed off as she turned and rushed over to the tube before kneeling by the main set of mechanisms.

“Thank the Emperor!” She heaved a deep sigh of relief. “And thank those idiot Orks for never making anything that they could loot instead! This is all Imperial technology. Brutalised by their Meks, yes, but the machine spirits are yet loyal to their true masters! I should be able to access the stasis tube with the usual rituals.”

“Then do so!” Alessa’s tone put a thrill up my spine. My love for her is fierce, but there is something primally stirring to her when she takes a voice of command. “Shior! Disable the torpedo, ‘Rae, join me in prayer, the Omnissiah is yet the Emperor in another form, and the holy machines bend to His will!”

“As you command, _Cre’yth._ ” I cannot but grin as I kneel beside Alessa.

With ritual care, she drew out a small censer from an undamaged compartment of her shattered armour, filled it with holy oils, and lit it. The ticking of that clockwork timer in the Ork’s heart was becoming aggravating, and it was slowing which meant that the Ork was dying, and closing in on whatever mechanism would trigger its final vengeance. From the damage to the thing’s body, I guessed we had scant minutes before the thing finally expired. An Ork can survive grievous injury to an extreme seen almost nowhere else, but this hideous thing was missing all of its limbs, most of its organs, and was clinging to life only by the thinnest margin.

Shior stood up after a few moments looking satisfied if still grim and nodded to us both. At least the torpedo was disabled, but Sister Shior had a point. It would be for naught if a Warp Rift opened in the middle of the city.

“Diabolical,” Kana muttered, interrupting Alessa’s cadence as she looked up.

“What is?” she asked.

Kana shook her head. “These readouts… this thing has been in stasis here for weeks, but there’s an autolog here recorded by one of the machine spirits. Less than an hour ago the tank started pumping in a chemical poison. _That’s_ what’s actually killing it.”

Rather than look stymied, though, Kana actually grinned.

“And that makes it simple,” she continued with a smile like a knife’s edge. “We just flood the tank with the rest of the poison. It’s little more than barely-refined chemical run-off and in the amounts being pumped in now it’ll cause this thing to suffer major organ failure in a few minutes, followed by cardiac arrest and the mother of all death throes, but the Orkish _heart_ is many times more durable than the Orkish _brain_ , so if just I command the machine spirit of the poison pump like so—”

Kana manipulates something on her vambrace, and immediately a chugging sound comes from several of the tubes as the liquid in the tank visibly darkens.

“Either it will instantly kill the thing’s brain and render its psyker powers a non-threat, or…” she trailed off.

“Or?” Shior asked flatly.

The thudding of the clock in the Ork psyker’s heart ticked up violently as the Ork’s body was brutalised by the chemicals that were now flooding its tank, causing Kana to wince.

“Or it will rapidly no longer be our problem,” she replied with a fragile grin.

“This is the correct course,” Alessa said, cutting in with a tone of absolute certainty. “This is why we were brought here… not just us, not just I or Shior, but you, Kana.”

The Sister Hospitaller turns a surprised look to Alessa, her fair face flushing as she worked her mouth for a moment. In truth, I understood Alessa’s point. 

“The God-Emperor guided Alessa to this place with purpose,” I said, standing from where’d I’d knelt to pray so I could face both the Retributor Superior and the medic, and offered them a faint smile. “You will grow used to this, as you stand alongside my Alessa… the God-Emperor guided her to me, then brought us to the Priory, then brought each of us here, and in all things the God-Emperor has worked His favor through her to defend His sacred dominion.”

“For the Emperor of Mankind is the Light, and the Emperor of Mankind is the Way, and all of His actions are for the benefit of Mankind, which is His people,” Alessa spoke the words with soft solemnity, and I bowed my head.

The ticking thudded and hammered as the Ork’s heartbeat slid into arrhythmia, its tank was clouded now by toxins, and we could no longer see if its brain was sparking and spitting. We would only know once the heart stopped beating if Kana’s gambit had paid off, and if it had not, well…

“The Emperor is God and God is the Emperor.” Shior, myself, Alessa, Kana, and all of the Sowers spoke in unison, completing the old words of prayer. “And so it is taught by the Imperial Creed that above all things, the Emperor Protects.”

The Emperor Protects.

“Til the end?” Alessa asked gently, as she reached out and took my hand.

I smiled down at her and nodded before turning and—damn the consequences and audience—leaned down to press a long, warm kiss to Alessa’s lips. She tasted of gunsmoke and blood, and beneath that was a sweeter taste still. The taste of my Alessandra. I savored it as I pulled back and smiled faintly.

“Til the very end, _Cre’yth._ ”

_Thump-thump_

_Thump-thump_

_…_

_Thump-thump_

_…_

_Thump…_

_…_

The ticking and thumping of the heart were no more, and to my faint surprise, we were, in fact, all still here.

_CLANG._

All of us jumped at the deafening noise and turned to Sister Kana who had crumpled to the marble-tiled floor of the Chapel in a dead faint.

“The strain finally got to the poor girl,” Shior said with a dry chuckle before looking back at us. “This is her first deployment.”

“Mine too,” Alessandra replied, then hiccuped as a giggle escaped her.

For some reason, we all found that hilariously funny because a moment later the Chapel was filled with uproarious laughter. Shior’s laugh was deep and thunderous, and even her Sowers were laughing along with her. Alessandra and I were leaning on each other, barely holding one another up as we laughed, and tears flowed freely from both of our eyes.

How many times can I be surprised by this depth of emotion? These heights of elation, the depths of sorrow, the fires of jealousy… for so long I’ve been numb to them, experiencing them only through the heinous act of the Thirst, and now they are mine and mine alone and I…

I am _happy._

“Did we die?” Kana sat up looking not much worse for the wear despite her collapse, and I held out a hand to her and grinned broadly.

“Not yet, Sister.” I splayed my palm and fingers to make my intention obvious. “The God-Emperor has tasks for us still.”

Sister Hospitaller Kana stared at my hand for a long moment, something like revulsion warring on her face before being replaced by something like resignation as she put her hand in mine, took a grip, and let me haul her to her feet.

“I need a drink,” she muttered.

// _Assault team to Repentia, the tower is ours._ // The vox snapped to life and with it came the dulcet tones of Canoness Anthia. // _Mop-up in action, report casualties._ //

Alessa had to pause to catch her breath before opening her palm for my commbead. Of course, she could hear them but the helm that was no secured to her belt was all but useless. I plucked the small black bead out of my ear and passed it over, content to listen in the faulty transmitter in Alessa’s helm.

“Repentia here,” Alessa replied. “Reporting minimal casualties, six walking wounded, seven light injuries.”

// _Combat effective?_ //

“Aye, Canoness,” Alessa reported. “We’re in the main Chapel, the Emperor guided us and we discovered a bomb at the heart of the Torch. Fear not, Sisters, the danger is past.”

There was a long pause over the vox before the channel cycled and the voice of Canoness Utena broke in.

// _That’s heartening, you do your new position of Mistress Repentia honor, Sister Alessandra, we are even now establishing communication lines with the Guard detachment in the catacombs, but I’m afraid that’s where the good news ends._ //

My heart sinks at the dire tone of the Canoness’ words.

// _The Warboss clearly expected us to strike at the Torch. We’re surrounded._ //

Alessa swallowed audibly as she looked around her Sisters, their previously joyful expressions had hardened into grim defiance, This was no longer a defensible location, and even if it were we had no supplies, no ammunition, and no means of escape.

“Understood.” Alessa let out a slow breath before reconnecting to the channel. “How many? And how long do you think they’ve been waiting?”

// _Thousands including some anti-air support according to VTOLs, so not many considering their overall numbers,_ // Utena’s voice was wry with gallows humor. // _But even that many suggests a level of patience I thought the most cunning Ork devoid of._ //

“In fairness, they were likely expecting to pick our corpses out of the rubble,” Shior put in.

This did explain why there were minimal defenses around the Torch despite its importance. Just enough to make it look defended, not enough to keep us out of it. This Warboss, Kritrig, was far more intelligent than any Ork had any right to be. Were it not for Alessa’s visions we would have lost much of the human regiment plus the rest of the Priory’s leadership in a single decisive blow.

As it is, we were in for a grim fight.

Before anyone could get another word in to the assault team, all vox channels exploded into shrieking static. Those Sisters with their helms on screamed, tearing their helms from their heads or, like Alessa, ripped the commbeads out as the splitting noise pierced their ears. A moment later the metal scream of static filled the air around us too, prompting every Sister to raise their weapons, panning for threats. I pulled my Eviscerator up thumbing the disruptor field live and tensing for an attack.

None came, but the screaming would not end.

“Emperor on Earth,” Kana muttered hollowly.

I looked back at her, and as I did, I realised what it was she was looking at, and what it was that was filling the air with that unnatural sound.

The psyker skulls in their jars were twitching faintly, and their jaws—previously slack with death—were wide open in an impossible scream.

“Shatter the skulls!” I roared, swinging my Eviscerator.

I split through the metal and glass, tearing the suspended flesh and bone apart in a single swing even as warp lightning began spitting and snapping between the skulls and the suspension tube. As I did, the Sowers’ heavy bolter spat single shots with staccato barks as they blew through the skulls while the souls of their owners screamed from the other side of the veil.

As they did, I turned to Alessa, desperate to assure myself she was unharmed. I found her moving past me in an almost drunken trance, her eyes fixed on the murky glass tube filled with toxins and slowly-liquefying Ork.

“What…” Alessa murmured as her lovely features twisted in disgust. “What _are_ you?”


	44. Morbidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alessa faces her daemons.

It was a struggle to accept what I was seeing.

My soulsight usually limned the world around me in stark gold and black, save for Isarae whose soul was so bright that it brought color back into my world in the brief times when her heart was so full that the emotion of it all spread to her fingers and toes, and it was in those brief moments that I could again see that beautiful sunrise hair and those wisteria eyes of hers that I fell so in love with.

This though… I’d never seen black-and-white before. The Ork’s tank was bleached in stark monochrome and, within it, something stirred.

Arcs of effervescent warp lightning spat around me, but for reasons I couldn’t fathom I was not afraid. They arced from the main body of the suspension tube to the skulls surrounding the machine, and I was vaguely aware of Isarae shouting orders and the bark of bolters as the glass cases exploded around me, showering the area with preservative decoctions and bits of bone and flesh.

None of that pierced the dense grip on my heart as I stepped closer and closer to the monochromatic tube. The closer I got to the machine—the closer I got to the source of that odd, divided light—the more unreal the rest of the world felt. It was as though a veneer of thick gauze were being layered, again and again, over my senses with every step I took.

“What… what _are_ you?” The words fell from my lips without my will.

_hElLo SwEeTlInG_

The stilted, ugly mindspeak split into my mind like a cleaver through spoiled meat, and my stomach revolted at the unclean thing that had thrust itself into my presence. It was hideous and unspeakable, but my mind was no virgin quarter anymore—not after the visions I had seen in payment for Isarae’s redemption—so I steeled myself, swallowed thickly, and dug in my heels.

“ _Daemon._ ” 

I hissed the forsaken word as I staggered back and drew my bolter to take aim at the machine, but in that moment the world shifted with an almost audible crack. Time slowed to a crawl. My sisters were frozen in looks of stern, pious outrage, and Isarae, my dear Isarae, was brandishing her Eviscerator with blood spattering her body and the crimson cloth of the Repentia fluttering boldly around her.

And although surrounded by allies, I was alone. Alone with a Daemon.

I tightened my finger on the trigger of the bolter and for the first time since owning this weapon, instead of a loud, throaty bark, there came the sickening thunk of the weapon jamming.

The noisome fluid swam briefly as the Ork corpse’s skull crashed against the glass and it pressed its slack, sloped brow flat to the surface. Its jaw hung loose and its tongue lolled hideously as the muscles of its face moved unnaturally, as if something beneath the skin was unused to the chains of flesh and sought about twitching and pulling at the muscles until it found its stride.

When it finally did, its eyes oriented, and my stomach turned at the color.

Black and white.

Its left eye was the deep, empty black of the spaces between the stars, and its right was the white of sickly mold that devoured good, healthy life.

“Begone, neverborn!” I snarled as I maglocked my bolter to my hip and brought my hands up to form the Aquila. “Get thee away from this hallowed place! For thou art not welcome!”

The suspension fluid bubbled as laughter welled out of the ruined thing, as much in the physical world as in my mind.

_Welcome?_ Its voice came clearer now. _Thou fateless child… the weight of thy nothingness has welcomed me._

My stomach turned as I grit my teeth and tried to shut out the things words.

“No word spoken from daemonic tongues is aught but a lie!” I intoned. “I am a daughter of the Emperor! Your lies shall find fallow ground in my soul!”

More laughter, deep and hollow, rang around me.

_Thy soul is a clangor of disorder in the orderly chaos of the cosmos._ The Ork’s slack and twitching face pressed grotesquely against the glass as it fixed both of its rolling eyes on me. _Fight. Breath. Live and slaughter. Hate with all thy might and drag all things down and down and down to me._ _**Thou fateless daughter of damnation… what would your mother think?**_

Litanies of denial and defiance died stillborn on my tongue as a cold, hollow ache opened up in my chest. Its laughter rang louder and louder. So loud that there was no other sound in all the galaxy. The Cult Imperialis teaches that a daemon is naught but a lie given form, for the God-Emperor is the truth and the way, and the daemon serves only to lead mankind from salvation and into darkness.

I know this daemon is lying.

It must be lying.

“Get thee—” I ripped my bolter up from my hip, took aim, and slammed my fist down hard on the heavy slide to clear the jam “ _—behind me, daemon!_ ”

There was no jamming this time when I pulled the trigger, and my bolter roared as it blew through the reinforced glass and shredded the body within. Time came back to life with a sudden rush like air into a drowning woman’s lungs as I obliterated what little remained of the Ork mutant. My sisters blew apart more of the psychic amplifiers as Isarae swung her Eviscerator through the last of them, only to stumble and kill the power to her blade as she rocked backward and stared up at me.

Shior, Kana, and the others did the same. Their eyes were wide as I forced my finger to relax off of the trigger and stepped back on legs that were suddenly so unsteady that when my heel came down on a bit of rubble, I simply pitched backward.

“Alessa!” The scent of cold smoke filled my senses as Isarae’s blade fell to the ground and her arms went around me, gripping me tight as she dropped to a knee and pulled me close.

Damn what my sisters might say. Damn their whispers and their judgment. I buried my face in the soft crook of Isarae’s shoulder and held on as she murmured something soothing in her native tongue. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know Aeldari in the same way that it doesn’t matter when a mother speaks gentle words to her colic child. It was Isarae’s tone and intent, and the love in her words that calmed me.

“What happened?” Isarae asked after I’d finally calmed enough to pull away from her.

“A… A daemon, I think,” I replied, shooting a withering glare at what very little was left of the Ork psyker’s corpse where it lay draped across shattered glass in the ruins of the suspension tube.

My sisters each made the sign of the Aquila on instinct, and Kana backed away from the tube and body with indecent haste. Isarae simply glowered at the corpse fearlessly before looking back at me.

“Did it do anything to you, _Cre’yth?_ ”

I shook my head. “It only spoke, but daemons cannot but lie… it said nothing I will repeat, and nothing worth the air that it soiled with its breath.”

“A good answer,” Shior said stiffly as she hefted her bolter. “These Orks toyed with the fabric of the Warp. It’s no surprise they attracted the attention of something so unclean. Put it from your mind and purify your body in battle, Sister Alessandra.”

Shior was right. Her words bore the wisdom of a Sister of her tenure and I wanted to heed them. I _commanded_ myself to heed them. So I stood and tried to put from my mind how casually that thing wearing the face of an Ork spoke of my mother. A woman whose face I did not—and could not—know.

Daemons lie.

I had to believe in that.

“We must rally the defenders of the Torch,” I said finally. “We will need the weight of the Dragoons numbers, and whatever ammo caches they have left. If the Emperor gives us grace there will be bolter rounds enough for your Sowers.”

“Enough to plant fields of the dead,” Shior said with a wry grin.

  


The next hour was spent shoring up what defenses we could while the Canonesses opened channels to the Dragoons. The news was twofold, and per usual not all of it was good. They number almost three regiments spread through the catacombs, and although none were at full strength that still gave us better than six thousand fighting men in an entrenched position. Unfortunately, the catacombs weren’t secure; the Dragoons had been fighting an underground war with the Orks who had made their way towards the Torch via Amphitria’s underhive practically since day one. Their only saving grace was the fact that the tight quarters and tunnels negated the Orks main advantage of overwhelming numbers.

Still, even the narrowest bottleneck can be overwhelmed with enough brute force, and the Orks had more than enough.

Curiously, the Orks weren’t charging, which was never a good sign. Orks that weren’t pitching themselves headlong into a fight weren’t acting like Orks at all that suggested that something powerful was holding them back, drawing tight on their leash.

“Do you think it’s him?” I asked Canoness Utena as one of her Seraphim laid out what I had been told was a set of blueprints of the Torch Imperialis on a table that we’d dragged into the main Chapel. 

Sadly, my soulsight made me somewhat useless when it came to that particular sort of planning.

“The Warboss?” Utena asked without looking up.

I nodded grimly, and Canoness Utena sighed as she brushed a hand over the blueprints and looked over at Anthia, who nodded.

“Most likely,” Anthia replied. “He hasn’t shown himself, but he rarely does, but the fact that such a large number of Orks is kept in such good order suggests that something more than just a tribal nob is in charge.”

“Agreed,” Isarae put in. “To keep that number of Orks leashed there would be multiple bull Orks leading them, and they are not the agreeable sort. We would have seen at least one raiding party sally out at us if there were anything less than the Warboss himself.”

“Clever or not, he’s still an Ork. He knows we’re vulnerable,” I said flatly.

Utena nodded as she crossed her arms, swore softly under her breath. Her eyes were pinned to the main departure pad of the Chapel and I knew what she was thinking. The Priory’s VTOLs could escape at high altitude and velocity, enough to bypass the screen of anti-air that Orks had set up, but there were only a handful of them. The other vehicles were mostly civilian craft, barring the odd armoured transport for high ranked ecclesiarchal ministers. We could evacuate those we came in with, the Sisters of Battle would live to fight again, but we had nowhere like near enough to extract the regiments below us, and the moment we began the process of extracting, the Orks would attack.

It would defeat the entire purpose of our coming here. We would have wasted the bolter rounds and blood, and provoked the destruction of a holy site, and gained nothing.

“There must be a way,” Utena murmured.

“There may yet be, Canoness.”

The voice of Lord Antares boomed from the Chapel entrance. He stood resplendent in his warplate, though the mourning shroud covering it was pierced and shredded in places, and stained the ichor of his Orkish kills. At his back, a weapon unlike any other was locked. Like a scythe of old pagan images of death incarnate. Behind him, four more of his brethren stood in silent repose, bolters held at the ready and looking for all the world like statues of demigods come to life.

The Adeptus Astartes. The God-Emperor’s Angels of Death.

Each of them was like a silent supernova locked in the cold embrace of space.

“I would be pleased to hear it, Lord Angel,” Utena said wearily. “Unlike my faith, my resources are not endless.”

Antares turned to gestured straight down the main causeway towards the entrance of the Torch and outward.

“We pierce straight through.”

His words echoed faintly in the Chapel halls, and the silence was broken only by a soft snort and chuckling of Isarae at my side whose thigh I swatted to get to her shut up. I _had_ to assume that there was more to the Lord Angel’s plan than that.

“Would that we were all Astartes, my Lord…” Utena began, then shook her head. “We would not survive the charge, and even if we did we would fall in battle. I am not opposed to a final charge if our options become so limited but I’d rather not make that our, as they say, _plan ‘A’_.”

“Don’t tease the honored Canoness, Brother-Captain.” Codicier Largos moved between his brothers to Lord Antares’ side, his aged features crinkled in a paternal smile for a moment before he turned to the rest of us. “We will have support from the _Thorn of Shadows._ ”

That got everyone’s attention, but most especially Utena and Anthia’s.

“We most certainly will not!” Utena snapped, her aura suddenly cracking with red fissures. “Lance or torpedo fire, even _if_ it were absolutely spot-on-target, would collapse half the underhive beneath the Torch. It would kill most of the guardsmen and drop the whole Cathedral into a _sump!_ ”

“That was not the intention,” the Codicier said, holding up a forestalling hand. “We are not going unleash our weapon batteries when we have the ability to deploy two full companies of Marines via drop pod.”

Anthia’s aura fluttered with confusion that reflected on her beatific features.

“I thought only your squad had been deployed, Lord Angel…?” She trailed off, clearly catching their meaning at the same time I did.

“The drop pods don’t need to be filled with Astartes,” I said, standing sharply, and Codicier Largos’ smile widened a little.

“No, little Sister,” Largos replied, now baring his teeth in a predatory grin. “No, they do not.”


	45. Interact - Divergent Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Seer finally sees something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on twitter @Calchexxis and check out my Patreon for more original and fan works.

Too many days had passed since we sent word for aid from the Craftworld. Too many days had been spent in idle preparation for the war that I knew would be coming. I could feel the torment in the air as the Warp sickened beneath my feet, and with every passing day that corruption grew worse.

“Something is wrong,” I said, and not for the first time.

Rhea glowered at me over her blade, a witchblade brought as a backup, although I doubt she ever imagined she would lose her precious Executioner. That would be a difficult conversation to have with her Shrine Exarch, I imagined. Perhaps if things went well enough with the warhosts, we would be able to reclaim the sacred weapon from the Mon’Keigh.

We were sharing a spot near the campfire outside of my command tent, and my sister had been going through her arming rituals to sharpen the psychic edge of the witchblade while I sat beside her and brooded.

Or sulked. At this point, I’m not sure I can tell the difference.

“They ought to have sent forces cycles ago, but still we wait,” Rhea huffed as she sheathed her blade. “My warriors grow impatient, and I grow restless. We are standing at a precipice of darkness, and now we must endure the Council’s indecision?”

“This is unprecedented,” I replied. “I do not fault their caution, but… yes, I agree.”

For too long our kind have relied on our prophecies to grant us clarity in our actions simply because we could not afford to make a move that might result in the loss of an Aeldari life. Due to our long gestation periods, the length of our lives, and our near extinction, it was a given that any move to war must be carefully weighed and considered, and I did not fault our seers for fulfilling their role, but this was not a matter we could afford to simply sit on.

My visions had shown me something terrible rising up from the Warp, and that it was somehow related to the Entwined Flowers. A human woman and a Drukhari wych. Rhea’s report after the battle that broke her face had left me deeply unsettled. To think that something had so deeply affected one of the irredeemable Drukhi such that she was left screaming praise for the corpse god of Man shook me to my core. If such a thing could be done to one of our dark cousins, what might it do to one of us?

And how?

“Is there no move we can make without waiting?” Rhea asked finally, looking back at me. “My sisters and I are healed, our Guardians are more cautious, and Yndreol’s Rangers have called reinforcements from their exodite and corsair brethren from across three dozen systems.”

“I owe him greatly for that,” I admitted quietly.

As appreciative as I was, it shamed me to see such an upswell of support from those who walked the Path of the Outcast—those so rarely and begrudgingly welcomed by their kin aboard the Craftworlds—and to have nothing to show from my own world for better than six cycles.

Yndreol’s irregular collection of Rangers, corsair warriors, and mercenaries now outnumbered Craftworld Iybraesil’s own forces two to one, and while they had little cohesion, choosing to fight in ad hoc groups lead by whomever in their number was most veteran on their Path, they had all sworn to see the fight through to the end.

Frankly, the fact that I yet had nothing of my own to show for support was embarrassing.

“Menesa…” Rhea started, but I shook my head.

“I have foreseen nothing of use,” I said, waving a hand sharply at my sister. “I have seen no shot a ranger could take that would change this tide… I don’t even know if killing one or both of the Flowers would even help anymore, or if we’re past the point of no return! For all I know it would make things worse, so I need aid from the Council Farseers to pierce through this storm of confusion.”

“But before you called it nothingness,” Rhea said. “Now it is a storm?”

“Yes! Or… no…” I sighed and leaned back on the log I was sitting against. “It’s complicated… there’s movement now. It’s as if what I’d looked at before was so vast in scope that it was like trying to view the whole of Craftworld Iybraesil while standing at the foredeck, and now it’s slimming down… focusing.”

“Is that good?” Rhea asked, her tone suggesting what she thought my answer would be.

Another sigh left me as I ran my hand down my face.

“I genuinely do not know, sister,” I said finally.

“Farseer, might we speak?”

I frowned as I looked up. Yndreol stood nearby in the shadows of a patch of trees. No matter where we met, there always seemed to be some shade or dim light for him to lurk in. It struck me as a habit of his, or perhaps a nervous tic. The Pathfinder automatically sought out a place of hiding no matter where he stood.

“I’ve told you, Yndreol, I’m not a Farseer,” I said as I stood and brushed the dirt and leaves from my battle skirts. “I’m barely more than a novice Seer.”

“As you say,” Yndreol bobbed his head, and there was a faint hint of sarcasm to his tone that I disliked.

He pointedly had not actually agreed with me.

Whether or not I liked the fellow was irrelevant, because I respected him greatly. Yndreol had joined my retinue by chance, having been on Iybraesil with some of his fellows to resupply while the council was gathering the preliminary forces, and had offered to serve as reconnaissance. Since then, I don’t think we’ve shared more than a couple of conversations, mostly about logistics or deployments, since he was so often out scouting with his Rangers.

I haven’t even seen his face. The Pathfinder’s features were constantly shrouded by a heavy cowl over his head and a half-mask covering his mouth and chin in the shape of a snarling daemon’s maw. 

“Can I help you, Master Yndreol?” I asked, trying to keep my irritation buried. It wasn’t him I was annoyed with. It was my own Craftworld and the awkward excuses I’d had to make regarding our lack of reinforcement.

Rather than answer immediately, he simply turned and gestured outward, his shifting cloak rustling faintly in the grass. “Walk with me?”

I glanced back to my sister who eyed the odd Pathfinder with a raised eyebrow for a moment before glancing up at me and nodding. Yndreol was a strange sort, but that was true of most who walked the Path of the Outcast for too long. Strange did not necessarily mean dangerous, at least not me. Yndreol had always been a staunch ally of Iybraesil, even if he was not always welcome on its decks.

So I nodded and moved alongside him. I tried to match his lazy yet graceful gait with little success. There was something of the contented predator in the way he moved that I envied a little. A casual readiness that seemed so much more comfortable than the constant anxiety I was plagued with, and as we walked amidst the shrubbery and sparse tree cover, I took a moment to appreciate how someone so tall, and who seemed yet taller for how lean he was beneath his cloak, could move unseen so easily.

“No news from the Craftworld,” he said, rather than asked. I nodded anyway, more to show I was listening than anything else.

“No fresh troops either, I…” I swallowed thickly as turned to Yndreol, determined to get the worst out of the way. “I am _so_ sorry, Master Yndreol. I have no excuse for this.”

To my relief and surprise, he didn’t scoff or make any ill comments. He turned to me, and his eyes were dark and distant. His smudged skin—which was forever covered in an odorless past that he reapplied like clockwork to further disrupt his features—had a color to it I could never quite pin down. Thanks to his half-mask I couldn’t read him, but I got the sense that he was smiling from the way the skin around his eyes pulled just slightly.

“What apology have you to make, young one?” He asked, and not for the first time I marveled at how clear his voice was despite its softness. “Are you the Autarch of Iybraesil, whose breath moves hosts across the stars?”

“I… no,” I replied. “But—”

“Are you master of the seers council?” He continued as if I hadn’t replied. “Whose voice sways the Exarchs of all Shrines?”

“No!” I resisted the childish urge to stamp my foot as I turned on him. “But this isn’t right!”

Yndreol didn’t argue one way or the other, but he did pause long enough for his patient gaze to cool my temper. Despite being unable to remember him, I felt almost like I was being scolded by my father.

“The Seers of Iybraesil are few and far between, and they seek the best outcome for the Craftworld,” he said. “But not even a Farseer at her height is perfect. There are some eventualities that even the greatest of them may miss.”

“Do you think this will be one of them?” I asked, a cold stone forming in my gut at the thought.

He made a gentle hum as he turned to look out over the ruined Mon’Keigh city, then gestured for me to follow as he approached a hillock near the edge of our camp’s holofield where he knelt and pointed out toward something I couldn’t see in the distance.

“Here, come closer,” he said.

As he settled in, Yndreol drew out his weapon; an ancient Asuryani long rifle which had been compacted down, but now telescoped out to its full length as he manipulated some part of it before settling the stock against his shoulder and sighting down the array of lenses that ran along the length of the barrel.

“There we are,” he muttered before nodding for me to come closer.

As soon as I had knelt beside him, Yndreol did the one thing I could not have expected, even given my gifts. He handed me his long rifle. Such a thing was unheard of. Weapons like the one he used were not of a kind any but one or two Craftworlds at most were capable of making any more, and even that was a dodgy supposition. Not only that, but each rifle was expansively unique, bearing the telltale marks of where their owners had altered or tweaked them to be more perfectly suited to their work.

But it would have been horribly rude to refuse, so I took the weapon reverently.

“Like this,” he said, moving a little closer to manipulate my hands and arms until he had me sitting and kneeling much as he had been moments ago. “Now look down the sights and tell me what you see.”

It was not as difficult as I imagined. Yndreol’s rifle was so light that it barely felt like I was holding anything at all. I followed his instruction as best I was able, brushed a few strands of my dark hair from my face, then settled in and sighted down the line he’d set up for me.

“What do you see?”

“Humans,” I said.

Several of them, a few non-combatants, and two of their warrior class dressed in fatigues with their crude lasrifles up that they had pointed down a street I couldn’t see from my angle. They were backing away, and every so often one of them would put a shot downrange towards whatever it was they were retreating from.

“And?”

“They’re fighting,” I said. “I don’t know what… Orks, probably.”

“What if they’re fighting Eldar?” Yndreol asked casually.

I frowned and looked up at him. He met my gaze evenly, then nodded back down to section of the city he’d picked out.

“We have a handful of our people out there gathering supplies and keeping the movements of the Orks in our field of view,” Yndreol continued as I went back to the rifle’s sights. “It’s possible.”

“But not probable,” I replied. “If this is to make some point, then with all due respect, you may be wasting your breath.”

“Less of a point than an exercise,” Yndreol said, as I focused on the firefight. “Many humans in this part of the galaxy speak in two terms… the theoretical, and the practical, so let us explore the theoretical. What if?”

“What if they’re Eldar?” I asked. “I suppose I should shoot the guardsmen. But If I’m wrong I’ll have done the Orks’ job for them, and made their looting of the city that much easier.”

“True,” Yndreol allowed. “And right now you have no way of telling if it’s Orks or Eldar, or something completely different, that the Mon’Keigh warriors are fighting, so what do you do?”

“I wait and see,” I replied immediately, still not looking up. “I need more information.”

I heard him chuckle faintly, and his cloak rustled as he shifted around beside me. I knew what he was doing. Or at least a part of it. He was making a point that the seers of Iybraesil simply didn’t have enough information, so they were waiting to see what happened. Perhaps he was defending them out of loyalty to them. The old Pathfinder had served Iybraesil for centuries before I was even born, and would probably continue to serve until his death.

“So you watch,” Yndreol said.

“Yes,” I replied.

“And focus.”

I huffed in annoyance as one of the guardsmen took a shot to the shoulder, and his arm was all but blown off. I couldn’t suppress a flinch at the swelter of gore, but that much cinched it.

“Orks,” I said finally. “That was a shoota bolt.”

And then I looked up and my heart leapt into my throat as I stared directly into the barrel of Yndreol’s sidearm, 

It was a heavy, ugly thing, that was nothing like his rifle, and it took me a moment to realise it wasn’t an Eldar weapon at all. It was a modified Mon’Keigh bolt pistol that had been inlaid and reinforced with wraithbone, and its yawning maw held a primed round that, if fired, would obliterate me before I could even think to react.

“Bang.” Yndreol lowered the sidearm and vanished it beneath his cloak as he stared down at me. “Indecision is the first and last mistake that too many of our kind make. Remember that lesson, young Farseer, because if you make the galaxy teach it to you, then I assure you it will be far less kind about it than I was.”

“But… I couldn’t know what was right,” I said hollowly as he took the rifle from me. “I couldn’t—”

“It is not about knowing, sometimes,” Yndreol said as he sighted down his rifle. Two shots spat from it, and I had no doubt that there were dead Orks on the other end of his aim. “It’s about seeing what you have to work with and making a decision. Sometimes you are permitted more time to gather information, but that is rare, for this galaxy has no mercy for us or any other. It suffers the existence of life only poorly.”

“I don’t understand what you wanted me to do!” I snapped as he stood and began walking back toward the camp. “What did I do wrong?!”

Yndreol glanced back towards me, and there was no reproach in his eyes. There was only a faintly paternal sadness as he lifted his rifle.

“The sights.” He held up the weapon pointedly, then lowered it, collapsed it, and vanished it beneath his cloak the same as he had with his pistol. “You should have looked up from the sights.”

“But what if I missed something?” I asked.

Yndreol shrugged, an oddly human mannerism he probably picked up from his mercenary work, then drew out his sidearm again and pointed it at my head.

“That was my point, young Farseer,” he said in a grim voice. “You _did_.”

I stared after him for a long time after he lowered the weapon again, turned away from me, and walked back to the small camp where his irregulars rested, rearmed, and chattered in a lively way that belied much of their Aeldari heritage. It took me a few moments to really internalise what it was that Yndreol meant by those last words, and when I finally did, all I could do was start laughing.

So I laughed.

I fell to my knees, then back onto my rear end, and laughed as I stared up at the sky. All of the lessons I had learned on my paths, all of the lessons hammered into me by my mother and, later, by Master Oreval, paled painfully in comparison to what that old Pathfinder had just drummed into me in a few minutes time.

You have to look up from the sights.

You have to _decide_.

And then it clicked.

Halfway through my laughing fit something clicked in the back of my mind. I’d been approaching this whole matter from the backend! I’d been coming at it from the wrong direction!

Scrambling to my feet, I rushed back to my tent, not giving a damn how indecent my stumbling gait looked as I pushed past the Guardians near the perimeter, shouldered past Rhea as she shouted my name, and dodged her attempt to grab at me.

I threw the flaps of my tent wide and almost collapsed against my desk before snatching up the bag that contained my runestones, reaching inside, and pulling them free. I had to know if it would work. I had to know if I was just going mad or if that crazy Pathfinder had actually given me the answer to my problems by accident.

But how?

Which runes did I use? This was— 

“Menesa!” Rhea burst into my tent and I all but snarled at her.

“Not now!” I snapped.

“But—!”

“I said ‘NOT NOW!’, Rhea!” I shouted before turning my back on her and staring down the stones in my hands.

Perhaps I was trying too hard. I needed to step back, take a breath, and look away from the sights. Yes… that was it. There were a minor talents that almost any novice seer could perform; simple psychic cantrips of fortune and guidance to help warriors evade fire or allow them to find shots they might otherwise miss. The trick to it was not to look too far into the future. Just a second, to just see bits and pieces. Mastering those basics was how Master Oreval taught control over how far one cast their mind into the future.

First, look a heartbeat into the future, then a breath, then expand and extend.

I tightened my grip on the stones and focused. I needed to look heartbeats into the future, but I needed to do it over and over and over. I needed to exist in the near-present and ride the skeins of fate from there. 

This would be dangerous, but I had to know if it was possible, so I walked the mnemonics of guidance, following the familiar paths of mental pattern until I reached the place where I had to diverge. Where I had to find paths untrodden that would take me to the near-now and never-then. I needed to see what was about to be seen.

It was slow. Achingly slow. But with every tentative step I built new mnemonics in my mind, new patterns, as I stared out into the city, seeing moments only heartbeats before they happened, and I tasted blood and felt warmth trickle down from my nose. I pushed further. Breaths now. I saw breaths.

And I saw the future.

For the first time since I came to this fate-forsaken rock, I actually _saw the future_. I saw war and death. I heard whispers and the voices of the Mon’Keigh as they made their plans in a place surrounded by the crude minds of Orks. I saw the Entwined Flowers, their hearts beating as one, and their souls burning with twin lights of devotion. Past them and outside, I heard the guttural murmur of the Orks and their animal brains, and the heavy, cloying, ugly thoughts of their leader.

‘ _…and then we kill’em…_ ’

My eyes flew wide as I fell out of my trance and stumbled back. Arms found and steadied me, and I leaned into the embrace of my sister as I stared down at my runestones which were caked with blood that had dribbled from my nose and eyes, and stood out brightly against my pale skin.

“Sister?” Rhea’s voice carried a tone of horror. “What happened?”

“I saw,” I mumbled through a mouthful of copper before spitting on the ground and swallowing to clear my tongue before looking up at her. “I saw, Rhea! We have to get reinforcements _now!_ Something is about to happen and we must intervene!”

“I… we can’t,” Rhea said slowly.

My runestones ground against one another I clenched my hands into fists.

“Explain.”

Rhea swallowed dully and stepped back from me, and for the first time in all our years as sisters and rivals, I saw fear in Rhea’s eyes. She was afraid of me.

“There has been a reply from the Craftworld,” she replied.

My stomach plummeted.

“We’re being recalled,” Rhea continued. “The Council of Seers has rescinded the order to gather the hosts. They’ve determined that, without sight of this world, we cannot risk any more Aeldari lives. You and I and all forces devoted by Iybraesil are to return by the end of high cycle today… I’m sorry.”

 _Cowards_.

Rhea flinched, and it took me a moment to realise that I’d said my thought out loud. I didn’t regret it though. They were cowards. All of them. Blinkered so strongly by their farsight that they couldn’t see the gun pressed to their own skulls!

“Your Banshees?” I asked.

“Already decamped,” Rhea replied cautiously. “The Guardians too… we’re already moving to the webway portal.”

“And Yndreol’s irregulars?”

Rhea looked back towards the tent flap and chuckled wanly.

“Waiting on your order, _Farseer_.” That last word came out sarcastically, and I wanted to smack her for it.

As it was, I almost threw a runestone at her head.

“I see.” Is what I actually said through gritted teeth before gesturing to the flap of the tent. “You’re dismissed then if that is what the Council wills.”

“Let me help you pack, at least,” Rhea offered softly. “Mena, please.”

Mena. My childhood name. Again she called me that, and I longed for the days when I was Mena and she was Ree, and we played at war in the Gardens of Twyllion near the central decks, and everything was simpler back then when we were children and knew nothing of the end of our people.

“Don’t bother,” I replied as I turned to wash the blood from my runestones in the nearby washbasin. “Yndreol! Come in. I know you’re lurking out there.”

The Pathfinder entered without a hint of shame at having been caught. Honestly, I think if he’d actually wanted to remain hidden he could have, even from me. Even from my sight. I don’t know how I know that, I just do.

“Are we decamping, Farseer?” Yndreol asked, and unlike Rhea there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in the word.

“Yes,” I replied. “We leave for the city as soon as possible. There are no reinforcements coming, and we have no support from the Craftworld. Whomever goes with us risks death at best.”

“Menesa!” Rhea whirled on with fury in her eyes. “The Council—!” 

“THE COUNCIL—!” I bellowed, advancing on my sister “—CAN SIT ON THEIR WITCHBLADES AND _SPIN!_ ”

If it were possible, my sister managed to go even paler.

“I,” I continued, my voice raw and strangled, “am staying here, because that is what I must do, even…” I glanced at Yndreol, then back to Rhea, “even if I have to do it alone.”

“Mena…” Rhea raised a hand, but I put my back to her before she could continue.

“Go home, Rhea,” I said without looking back. “I have work to do, and you have a Council to inform of my treachery.”

I stormed past her and out of my tent and froze.

Almost a hundred Aeldari in a blinding panoply of heterogenous gear and aesthetic stood arrayed in front of my tent, and Yndreol patted me on the shoulder as he stepped out behind me, followed by my sister who goggled at the mercenaries, corsairs, and rangers.

“Well?” Yndreol said brightly in that soft voice of his. “You heard the Farseer… ‘death at best’, what say you thieves, beggars, and outcasts?”

A wordless snap of fists to chests echoed in the secluded hills of the mountains, and for the second time that day all I could do was laugh. My Craftworld had abandoned me—abandoned us all—for fear of their own blindness, forever peering through their sights at the darkness in front of them and never realising that the threat was at their throats all along. 

“Thank you,” I said as I mastered myself and wiped at my eyes, leaving streaks of dried blood across my face as I did. “All of you… I swear I shall protect you all as best as I am able, though I am but a novice, and no Farseer at all.”

A round of low chuckles rose from the Outcast who had, in this moment, proved more insightful than an entire council of seers, and faced my sister.

“Tell them I am not coming back,” I said. “Tell mother I’m sorry, but I have seen what I must do, and this is where I must do it.”

“This is madness, Mena,” Rhea said as she shook her head, sending her dark, beautiful locks tumbling around her face. 

I snorted and, remembering Yndreol’s motion, shrugged.

“No,” I replied. “The madness is yet to come and I have no time to go and try to convince them all that I’m right. Tell them if it does come, it will do so only if I have died trying to stop it. Tell them that, and tell mother and Master Oreval… tell them I’ll do my best.”

Rhea grit her teeth, and her jaw tensed to a grim snarl.

“Damn your eyes, sister.”

I smirked at that.

“Too late.”

I turned away as she left to follow her warriors and the Guardians, and looked up to Yndreol who nodded silently before looking to one of his Rangers and making an odd gesture.

“We’ve never had a Seer walk the Outcast path with us before,” he said dryly as a Ranger approached and drew out a voluminous cloak whose colors shifted strangely as it moved. 

Yndreol took the cloak with something like devotion before turning to me holding it out much as he had held out his rifle to me not so long ago.

“But you are welcome upon it for as long as it is yours to walk.”

Cautiously, I put a hand on the cloak, then sighed, nodded, and shed my outer robes down to my armour, dropping them to the ground, before taking up the Ranger cloak and fitting it over my shoulders. Two rangers, along with Yndreol, showed me how to secure it, and within moments we were moving towards the city, and I was among them, staff in hand, just one more shadow in the darkness of the forest.


End file.
